Devil's Playground
by Sabam
Summary: Betrayed by Rinoa,Squall breaks out of jail seeking revenge but instead he finds a complot to kill the one he’s looking for.Will he join the conspirers or will he risk his life trying to save the one who he’s falling for again? Squinoa
1. Give Me Liberty

Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII or any of its characters or locations. Any reference to songs, brands, inventions, names, etc … does not have any credit owed to me. I own nothing except the odd character that I will invent.

**Important Note This is a piece where I shall push my writing skills to the limit. Some parts will seem crude, the language will be rough, etc … basically everything will be done to bring the realism to the characters used in this story. Please do not read this if you are easily offended, and take in mind the rating. Please do not send me flames on any aspect of this story since everything will be done in the sake of literature. You have been forewarned.**

**Give Me Liberty**

****

The dank walls of the cell seem to shrink around him. It was cold, terribly cold. The cement walls were wet with leaks in the pipes and a dripping sound was driving him crazy. Squall Leonhart was irritated at the lack of personal space and privacy. His blue eyes stormed in utter anger as he thought of why and how he had ended up in this Hellhole. _I'm sorry baby. I'm a girl with big ambitions … and you, you're just small time._ He would take those words to his grave. They hurt more than the bullet wound that followed.

"So man, why you in here?" His cellmate asked from the other side of the room on his own bed. Squall could see a red glow coming from the joint that was lit. Suddenly, it hit him that guards don't dish out marijuana … where had the ugly, Hispanic male with black teeth acquired it?

Squall knew all about his cellmate. The man never seemed to shut up. Rodrigo was his name. He used to work smalltime in some sort of gang down in the south end of Deling. Rodrigo was hired as a driver-boy. Pick up the packages, deliver the packages. Sometimes he picked up hookers to bring to those who needed the quality time. His thinning, greasy hair, his dirty, rotting teeth … all the product of stress and poverty, he claimed. Squall hypothesized that it was more due to the lack of hygiene and pure laziness.

Leonhart stared at the ceiling, lying on his back and decided to ignore the questions of the nosey bastard. He had never been much of a talker and discussing the treason that was set against him made his insides writher in hot, blazing fury.

'That's what happens when you trust someone. When you trust women.' He thought bitterly and couldn't help feeling a pang of pain at the pit of his stomach. He had loved her, or had he? Was it just an illusion that he had created himself? He was foreign to the concept of love … he couldn't tell whether or not he had cared for the two-timing bitch. The goddamn whore. His fists clenched unwillingly.

So like him, to be seduced by a charming girl. Older than him by a few months, strikingly beautiful with her dancing cocoa eyes that always seemed to enchant him and the promises that escaped her red lips. The promises of vengeance, money and power. And the tantalizing sex that left him begging for more. It had been too good to be true.

She had been good at seducing and had gotten him tied up in the game quickly. What had he to lose? A nineteen-year-old, fresh out of school, that worked in cheap Chinese restaurants that used rat meat in their supposed 'General Tao chicken'. He was nothing but a delivery guy. Her pledge of easy money made him smile, her enticing offers of revenge on society got his attention and the assurance of power made him trust her. The sex brought him down to his knees.

She had coaxed him into her cult, into her bed. She had manipulated him with ease. What the Hell had been wrong with him? He acted like a bumbling idiot. Trying not to think about her obviously made her ever more present in his weary mind. He rubbed his unshaven cheeks as he remembered his first night in the Midnight Music Club in the Underground Universe.

_A co-worker had told him about the nightclub. "It's so freakin' amazing, there's girls everywhere! You have no trouble getting them in the back of your car." The Asian delivery boy told him ecstatically in his broken English, "And they so good too! You should go, cheap entrance and everything."_

_He had nodded indifferently. Maybe he would go for a bit and have a drink. What had he to lose? He had just gotten off his evening shift at the restaurant, might as well make a Friday night worthwhile. After changing into his denim jeans and a dark sweater, he slung his coat over one shoulder and headed towards his car. A blue 1995 Honda Civic that he had bought at a used car store. The heating didn't work, the radio picked up signals from Timber stations and if you hit the dashboard long enough, the passenger door would eventually open. For 3 grand it had been his and he had still felt ripped off._

_He had driven to the heart of Deling in the commercial district. Specifically, part of a turf called 'Underground Universe'. The place didn't belong to anyone in general. It was just the reunion of the big time and the small time criminals. It was from time to time a battlefield for gang wars. The whole district was a front for some of the most illegal activities in Deling, a city that never slept. It amazed Squall how the police hadn't discovered the true use of 'Underground Universe', a trading post for narcotics, prostitution, stolen merchandise and everything else that was stamped as 'illicit'._

_Squall parked at the corner of Benshire St. and Mahogany Avenue. Making sure to lock his car and set the alarm he started walking towards the club. The large neon sign that read 'Midnight Music' was difficult to miss. He pushed his way through the mob that was crowding around to see a fist fight between a Wakasenshi and a Diabolos. The sidewalk was already stained with blood and it wouldn't be long until the fuzz hauled their dirty asses on the spot._

_He entered the club leaving the gangs to their switchblades and guns. "Admission fee is 30 bucks, kid. And we'll need some ID, those cops have been getting nosey about who we're letting in." The burly bouncer stated firmly. Squall reluctantly reached for his back pocket and pulled out thirty dollars. He flipped around for his driver's license, flashed it and he was let in._

_He examined the two-floored club with an expert's eye. It was dark, only lights that flashed from the ceiling provided sight. The bar was in the far corner of the place; the rest was a devoted dance floor with tables that loitered around. A DJ occupied himself with punk music that blared from the speakers. There were so many people. Some were drinking, some were dancing but everyone was doing something and the co-worker had been right. The women were attractive._

_Thinking that downstairs was too crowded from him, he stepped up the stairs to the second floor where poker machines were set up on one wall. There were four pool tables. He noticed that people on this floor were better dressed. The women wore short skirts and dresses that fit tighter around the curves. He walked over to the bar on that floor and ordered a drink and sipped at it slowly, paying attention to the conversations that were going around._

_"Listen boys, I have nothing against those who suck at this game but it's getting boring. Make it easier on your egos and hand me my money." It was the first voice that caught his ear and it was coming from a nearby pool table._

_"Don't get cocky, sweetheart. You're only getting the money when you sink in that 8-ball." Another voice answered. "If you don't get it in, eight-thousand dollars will be all mine. Until then, keep your ass tight."_

_"Forget it, Kinneas. It's a lost cause." The jeering voice was the first._

_Squall turned around on his stool slightly. They were right behind him. Four guys around a table and one, solitary chick. Not your everyday scenario. Squall shrugged and turned back around. "Hey, this section's VIP." A hand tapped him on the shoulder. It was one of the four guys._

_"Then what the hell are you doing here?" Squall shot back, looking indifferently at the poised man before him. A blond, clean-cut hairstyle, he had emerald eyes visible through the dim lighting of the club. He was wearing ironed pants and a white t-shirt. A typical dealer sitting on a pile of narcotic related money. _

_"Oh …" The girl cooed slightly, "A question deemed of your answering, Cain."_

_"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Cain snapped at Squall, "No one freaking messes with an Almasy."_

_  
Kinneas turned around. He was a good-looking man, mid-twenties, with a long ponytail hanging from his cowboy-hat head, "Well hey, the guy messed with you to your face. People usually mess with the Almasy clan behind its back. Don't punish the guy because he has more balls."_

_"Fucking insult my family, I'll shoot you with your own gun, asshole!" Cain hissed vehemently at the cowboy. _

_Squall emptied his glass and got up from his stool. Cain turned to him and smirked in satisfaction, "Yeah, you leave and don't fucking show your face around here again."_

_  
"Hey, buddy, I'm just going downstairs. Apparently, this floor's labeled 'Shitkickers Only'." Squall answered curtly and ignored the obscenities that were yelled after him. He descended down the stairs into the crowded mass of people and made his way to the bar once more and ordered another drink._

_Floral scent of perfume that was tastefully applied got a hold of his senses. A delicate figure slid onto the stool next to him. It was the girl from upstairs. He got a better look at her. She was wearing a short, tight black dress. Her raven hair fell onto her bare shoulders. Her chocolate brown eyes made her seem even more appealing and her red lips were inviting, "Got something against shitkickers?"_

_"Yes. They're contagious." He answered, speaking about them like they were some kind of deadly disease._

_"That's very brave of you to say that." She smiled and he nearly caught himself smiling back. Her beautiful features seem to make him stupid and he couldn't reply to her comment. He only shrugged._

_  
She began to speak again, "So, do you go by a name?"_

_"Last time I checked, yeah." He replied, passing his glass from palm to palm nervously. He decided against further introductions with her. That 'Cain' character would most likely come stampeding down the stairs and beat him to a bloody pulp for flirting with his girl._

_"Well that's good. Do you remember what it is?" She asked teasingly and he couldn't help the pleased feeling he had that she was paying attention to him. _

_"I'm sure your boyfriend wouldn't appreciate your knowing of my name." He stumbled out with it and she gave him an odd look._

_"Boyfriend? You mean Almasy?" She laughed a laugh that was so musically wonderful. It made him quiver in pleasure, "We aren't together. So what's your name?"_

_"Squall." He answered immediately and almost prepared himself mentally to give her his phone number as well, "Squall Leonhart."_

_  
"I'm Rinoa Heartilly." She introduced herself, "I was wondering if you'd like to make some money?"_

_"Who isn't willing to make money?" He answered her question with a question of his own, "How much?"_

_Her head tilted to the side and she smiled, "I like guys who get straight to the point. I was thinking five-hundred grand and some extras."_

_He nearly spat out his drink all over the counter. At first he blamed the music for being too loud but then he moved his accusations to the alcohol that was beginning to make him delusional, "Sorry … could you say that again? I could have sworn I heard you say .5 of a million."_

_  
"I did." She answered, and bit her lower lip and waited his answer._

_His eyebrows were raised in a state of confusion, "That's a lot of money." Was the only thing he uttered back to her._

_"It's a hefty amount but you'll gain it." She replied casually and then went into a brief explanation, "It's not the most legal things. But … I can promise you power and money at the end of the line." She smiled and bit her lip again._

_"Oh gee, I'm really going to have to think about that one." He declared, a twinge of sarcasm coming through, "I'm an honest man, gaining his two-hundred bucks a week …"_

_"There's no such thing as an honest man, Squall Leonhart. And there are no exceptions to that rule." She countered and then with a malicious smile she added, "So do you want to go for a ride, or not?"_

_"What kind of ride?" He asked jokingly._

_"A car ride." She chuckled. He couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed._

_  
"I guess that's better than nothing." He got up from his seat and followed her back to the exit of the club. The cold air outside seemed to sober him a bit as he continued to trail behind her, "So … what exactly are these little jobs?"_

_"I never said 'little'." She warned him and strode into a private parking lot. All the cars seemed to be priced over forty thousand dollars and Squall couldn't help feel a little uncomfortable, "And it's a jack of all trades. Robbery, exploitation, murder, drugs … you name it."_

_"Doesn't sound legal at all." He declared the statement as if it was a sudden realization of his._

_"Don't say I didn't warn you." She stopped at a silver Porsche 911 Gt2. His jaw dropped open, "Door's open." She informed and got into the driver's side._

_"Is this your car or are we already committing a robbery?" He asked nervously as he got in._

_"Do you trust me?" She asked suddenly._

_"Well … mildly." He answered and couldn't help his obvious discomfort of her at the wheel. He had never really trusted women and driving._

_"We'll have to fix that." She smirked and started the engine. _

_"Fix that … by means that I'm still alive at the end, right?" He asked her._

_"Now why would I want to take away the life of a handsome employee like you?"_

_"I never agreed to the terms." He answered sharply._

_"Squall, I'd suggest shutting up and buckling your seatbelt. By the way, this is a brand new car so if you feel the need to lose your lunch, tell me ahead of time."_

_"I'm not scared." He affirmed defensively, "I'm uncomfortable at the fact that you're driving." He reached for the seatbelt._

_"Get used to it. I tend to be a dominatrix."_

_"Uh … the definition of 'dominatrix' that I learnt in college was a woman who dominates in a sadomasochist sexual relationship." He spoke in a worried tone that clearly said, 'What have I gotten myself into?'_

_"You stick to your definition and I'll stick to mine, college-boy." She sighed in annoyance._

_  
"What's your definition?" He asked and she glared at him, "I mean … no sadomasochist sexual practices?"_

_"No."_

_"Oh … ok, just making sure." He sounded slightly relieved._

_"I have strange urges to punch you in the head." She replied casually as though it was perfectly normal._

_"Ok, I'll shut up. I just needed to be reassured."_

_  
"Good." She shifted in gear and sped out of the parking lot. She ran by a red light and pushed harder on the accelerator, shifting gears as the speed reached new heights, "I can never remember where that goddamn speed bump is. I know it's somewhere around here …" A tiny smile forming at her lips._

_  
"Listen, I don't know if you like your car but I do. Very much so, even. Please don't kill it." Squall stated, "Slow down and watch for the speed bump please."_

_"Scared yet?"_

_"Not scared, worried." Squall corrected, "About both the car and your mental health." The comment made her laugh._

_"Trust me, I'm sane. There is no speed bump. Oops, I'm supposed to turn here." She swung the steering wheel to the left and the car screeched. She shifted back a few gears until the car gained more speed._

_  
"Where exactly are we going?" Squall tried not to look back at all the cars she had cut off. He had distinctly heard a crash back there and he was determined not to know how many death counts there were on account of Rinoa's bad driving._

_"The docks." She informed him, "Well, maybe not, I don't know. Where do you want to go?"_

_"I don't really care. You're the boss, isn't that right?" _

_"You learn quick." She remarked and complimented him, "I have a feeling we'll get along just great."_

_They sped down the nearly empty street, swerving around the occasional car that was in their way. The rest of the trajectory was done in silence, with only the working engine of the car to fill up the quietness. It was barely fifteen minutes where they reached the docks. Rinoa allowed herself in through the gates as though she was private personnel and dove to the pier. She got out of the car, Squall followed suit, "What's there to do here?"_

_"It's a nice place to talk, that's all." Rinoa smiled slightly at the vast sea before them. She hoisted herself up on a container and sat there, "Anyways … you wanted briefings or something?"_

_"Yeah … what'll this achieve big picture-wise?"_

_"Our personal satisfaction. Come on, I'm sure you aren't that content with your shifts at your small time job. Society's a bitch, there's two ways of getting what you need to survive. The lucky way and the desperate way. When it comes down to the facts, neither of them are honest ways … but everyone does what they can." She finished and he stayed silent, watching her eyes that were on the ocean. "It's just … a big heist. A build of criminal empires … my own clan, if you want to go to that extent."_

_"You want to become a big player?" He asked her, hands in his pockets._

_"Eventually." She answered, "First, I just want to get this thing off the ground. Then I might consider being a major crime player. It pays, doesn't it?"_

_"Sure as hell looks like it." He sat next to her, not too close and not an exaggerated distance. They watched the sea for a moment in absolute silence, "So am I hired?"_

_"Yeah …" She smiled, "I think you're good."_

_"Great. Are we going to stick around here for a while more?" Squall asked, jumping off the cargo bin. At this point in time he thought following his co-worker's advice was the best thing that had happened in his life. A beautiful associate and the adventure that crime offered were a change from the dingy restaurant business._

_"No, that's alright." She extended her hand as a signal of help. His gentleman signals ticked on and he helped her descend from the cargo container. She thanked him. They stood unusually close for a moment. He didn't seem to be able to move away from her. He had fallen under her charm, his penchant for goddesses had made him fall into a trap._

_As the coup de grace, she reached for the back of his neck and pulled him down a few inches. Her lips brushed lightly against his as if she was still contemplating her move. He didn't leave her the chance to think it through as he pressed his lips on hers. He wasn't in control anymore._

_Her lips were soft and addictive. He quickly fell deeper and deeper into a trance with her open mouth under his. His hand skidded from her waist, down to her thigh and she broke apart, "Do you do this with all your employers?"_

_"Only the ones that are a dominatrix." He replied almost playfully and resumed kissing her._

_She broke apart again and redirected his hand to her hips, "And you think it's a good idea?"_

_  
"I don't know." He responded truthfully, "Is there a rule against it?"_

_"Well, you know we exist to break the rules." She pointed out. He smirked, "So … do you want to go for a ride?"_

_   
  
"What kind of ride?" He kissed her neck mischievously._

_  
She laughed quietly and replied, "Not a car ride."_

The worst mistake of his life was allowing her to pierce his defense. To have let down his guard in front of such a subtle enemy. What had been going through his mind? How could he not have seen the cruelty that she was capable of? No, her beauty had blinded him. Her intentions didn't seem to interest him.He was just like the rest of the stupid fools she lured into her plot, used them and tossed them with the same indifference each time.

"Hey man, listen." Rodrigo broke into Squall's train of thoughts unintentionally, "You don't have to tell me why your in here and if it's because of a loco bitch but listen amigo, I was thinking of getting the hell out of here. I was just wondering if you finding it comfortable here or something? You wanna be free?"

Squall got to a standing position, "You know how?"

"I got connections, little friend, I got connections with the Diabolos of the city an' they gon' come bail me." Rodrigo replied, "I'm sure they need a wheel man, so hey, I was just bein' friendly and askin' you if you'd like to work for the Diabolos?"

Squall's hatred for his companion seem to fade and he uttered three single words, "Give me liberty."

**Additional Disclaimer 1: This piece was inspired by GTA III. I do not own that game either for it is the rightful property of Rockstar games. Some ideas will be pulled from that game into this fanfic but this story still remains under my creative control.**

**Additional Disclaimer 2: Any brands/models of cars that I mention in this fanfic (and there will be quite a few) I do not own. They are the rightful property of Porsche, BMW, Mercedes, etc … I am only using their names to provide a more descriptive insight of the vehicles for the reader's pleasure.**

**Additional Disclaimer 3: Any brands of products that I mention in this fanfic do not belong to me, whatever they may be. They belong to whomever owns them. **


	2. Catalysts

**Catalysts**

****

"I don't associate with liars." Rinoa said affirmatively, smiling in a way of seduction at the man across the table from her. She was on the sixtieth floor of a corporate newspaper building, in the conference room of Mr. Almasy himself. Her gaze shifted from his piercing green eyes to the glass wall that overlooked the city of Deling.

Seifer Almasy watched the beautiful woman over the rim of his glass of red wine. He smirked wryly, set down his glass and leaned towards her over the table that separated them, "A liar? Now, come on, Rin … I'm no liar. You know that." He was a natural born charmer and women seldom resisted him. However, when they did it just made him more determined to conquer them. Rinoa Heartilly was one of those women.

"I do? Hm, must have slipped from my mind then." She answered with light undertones of sarcasm, "But you've completely lost my point. I don't like to hold up relations with people who affiliate themselves with Quistis Trepe." She pronounced the name with disdain in her voice. It was unintentional but it still revealed a lot.

"Ah yes. Quite possibly the two worst enemies in Deling. Heartilly and Trepe, two fascinating, beautiful women. But you read my intentions wrong … I'm not affiliated with Trepe and to be frank, I'd much rather be associated with you in more than one way." Seifer smirked but Rinoa's amused expression turned cold.

"That was unnecessarily suggestive." She sounded quite annoyed with his flirtatious comportment. It was beginning to grind her nerves down. "Listen, I've got time to waste somewhere else. If you have skeletons in the closet, clean them out. When you've taken care of that, just get me the money I need and we'll talk business. Otherwise, you can go to hell." She got up from her chair and paced towards the door but Seifer caught her.

"Harsh words coming from such beautiful lips." He remarked and opened the door for her; "You'll find us to be quite reliable … you'll be hearing from me soon. Don't worry, Rin … we'll see each other shortly. You'll be pleased to know we have no affiliation with the Trepes and as soon as I'm able to prove that, we'll meet." He guided her down the halls to the elevator. She pressed the down button and the doors instantly swung open.

"Good." Rinoa stated, "But that's only half a mile ran. Get the money to me, Seifer. Without the cash, you're gone from my list." She got in the elevator and pressed the 'Rez-De-Chaussez' button. The doors swung closed before Seifer could say his good-byes.

As soon as she was alone, she flipped open her phone and dialed Irvine's cellular number, "I don't care what you're doing. Get your ass to 'Daily Post Corporation' in a fancy car right now to pick me up … I thought I just told you that I didn't care what you were doing … Then get some pants on." She flipped her phone closed without another word. She got out of the elevator, took out oval framed sunglasses and slipped them on as she stepped out of the skyscraper.

She looked slightly disoriented. A young girl in her mid-twenties, sporting denim jeans and jacket. No briefcase, she lacked the rushed pace. Completely out of place in the Wall Street district of Deling. She crossed her arms and went closer to the edge of the street. Cab drivers were out smoking beside their cabbies. The baby blue sky was dotted with pure white, puffy clouds and the air was fresh and cool. Everywhere around there were towering office buildings.

Rinoa looked at her watch crossly. "Unreliable prick." She uttered and rolled her eyes behind the shades. She observed the pedestrians, rushing in every which direction in their dark suits with perfectly set ties. "The lucky bastards." Is what she identified them as, "Protection of the law … oh, the screwballs."

She waited twenty minutes until finally a black Lexus GS300 pulled up near her, "Your majesty's chariot." Irvine's voice came from the inside as he rolled down the passenger window.

"You're late." She reproached him in an annoyed fashion, "I thought we had agreed on twenty minutes ago."

"Twenty minutes ago, I was busy." Irvine defended his cause valiantly. 

"I thought we had established that your sexual needs weren't important or cared about." She replied icily, "Over the phone, remember?"

"Listen." Irvine snapped, "Junior wasn't finished." He pointed at his crotch, "Junior is more important than caddying Ms. Heartilly around town on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, is it somewhat clear to you?" He glared at her when they stopped at a red light.

"If 'Junior' controls everything that goes on around here," She smacked him in the back of the head, "Well then we'll have to cut him off because we can't have a controlling party." Rinoa countered aggressively. "Besides, Almasy is off the chart."

"What?" His jaw dropped, "We can't bump Almasy off that chart! We'll end up on the street as homeless people! He's the only one who's serious about this funding. Narcotics don't pay themselves, Rinoa … fucking cultivators out there in the country are getting difficult. That's half our business and if we-"

"Selling dope isn't going to get us anywhere." She cut him off brusquely, "In fact, I say we drop that completely," His face completely fell, "And go into dirty work and protection services. There's just too many things on the street these days, it's not a smart business."

"Wha-wha-what? Rinoa! Hello? Are you listening?" Irvine was close to flipping out, "Are you stupid? Yes! You really are if you're thinking about dropping the drug profits. And … murder and protection? What is wrong with you? Why go into murder and protection?"

"Because Trepe's in that district and I want to piss her off." Rinoa hid nothing and laid her cards flat out on the table, "She's been a real bug up the ass lately. We've lost eighteen men last time we trespassed on a bit of her property. That means she's being a possessive bitch. She's allied with DeGracia. By the time she works and works at him, forget the narcotics, Irvine. Do you know what DeGracia owns?"

"The airports." He mumbled incoherently. 

"That's RIGHT! So every plane that lands on DeGracia's runaway that has our ticker number on it will go KABOOM!" She said as if she was explaining the situation to a kindergartener, "Do you get my point? Good." She answered her own question, deeming it unimportant whether or not he did get her drift.

"Oh, and Diabolos himself told me to relay the message …" Irvine began on a tangent, "Your lover boy'll be out of prison by tonight … he told me to remind you that you owe him fifteen thousand dollars for the bail and six thousand dollars for forcing him to hire Leonhart."

"Tell him that he doesn't need to remind me. I don't forget these things." Rinoa began biting her nails in a fit of anxiousness, "Did he tell you what kind of jobs he's going to give him?"

"Told me … driving and stuff. By the way, Trepe's lured Diabolos in some interesting business. I wouldn't be surprised if she hired Squall as soon as she sees what he can do." Irvine briefed lightly so not to anger her to a fit of rage that brought upon destruction.

"Great." She snapped sarcastically, "That's the last thing I need."

"Well, what were you expecting?" He asked casually, "You don't want to hire him, you hand him over to the Diabolos. Word'll eventually spread across the street that he's one good handyman. Quistis'll pounce on him as soon as she knows you've had a former relationship." He turned a left into Oak Lane and sped up as not many cars were obstructing the road.

Rinoa said nothing and continued to nervously chew her nails.

"HOW ARE WE bailing?" Prisoner 180988 whispered at the lunch table.

His companion slapped him on the back as if they were old buddies and replied, "Patience, amigo, patience. I got it all taken care of."

"How did you even get hold of the Diabolos?" Squall asked again. Pure curiosity was grinding at his insides, "Last time I heard, this was a police-owned facility." The last bit was outlined in sarcasm but it didn't seem to bother Rodrigo the least bit.

"Patience, amigo, patience." The Hispanic lowlife repeated smiling and nodding his head as he helped himself to more watery mashed potatoes, "The little field trip that's planned this evening … that's when the Diabolos are going to work their magic. Eat up, man … you're goin' to need the strength. This ain't a pussy's job."

Squall looked at the food in contempt. He had always been a picky eater and the sticky macaroni and cheese wasn't very appetizing. He picked a bit at his salad and chocolate pudding but left it at that. He would most likely get carsick if he forced himself to eat this crap. "So you're saying Diabolos is going to hire me?"

"Yeah, we been looking for outside connections for years. The big man tol' me himself that he was gunna bring you into the business." Rodrigo informed in a low voice, "To tell you the truth, man … at first he was only goin' to bail me … then something made him change him mind. If you ask me, someone out there's looking out for you."

This made Squall laugh. He had no one 'out there'. Not a soul that would really bother to bail him or cut a deal with Diabolos to hire him and get him on his feet again, "Mhmm, right … can't wait to meet 'em." He joked cynically but couldn't help wondering.

"Anyway … come six o'clock … we'll be out of this joint." Rodrigo shoveled more mac and cheese in his mouth and chewed anxiously, "Then you'll be with the Diabolos and believe me. That's who you wanna be with, we'll take care of you, amigo."

Squall stayed silent and thought to himself, "I'll eventually get other connections leading to you, Rinoa Heartilly. When I do find you, revenge'll be sweet." Bitter thoughts infiltrated his mind and food was his last interest.

Five thirty seemed to take forever to get there, at least to Squall and Rodrigo. They embarked, handcuffed, in the prison bus. Their ankles were tied to the seat legs to prevent any escape. Many other noisy convicted criminals were there to, "We're going on a field trip, field trip, field trip!" One chanted jokingly, "Man, federal agents are getting soft."

"Where're we going Mr. Security Guard?" One called out mockingly, "Are we going to go see a good ol' football game or somethin'?"

The security guard smiled sinisterly, "Nope. You're getting transferred to D-District Prison since we have no intention of releasing any of you." The bus went silent as the prisoners tried to keep the horrified looks from surfacing. No one ever got out from D-District, by release or by escape. It was a death ward.

"You're shitting me." An Asian hit man stated from one of the front seats.

"Never really got that expression, but no Tsang … I'm not shitting you." The guard laughed maliciously and looked at the prisoners as if they were elementary children, "You have a fun trip now." He stepped out of the bus and two another guard stepped in, closed the doors and started the engine.

The trajectory seemed like walking on death's path for all the prisoners except for Squall and Rodrigo who knew they would soon taste freedom. The streetlights of Deling were coming on as dusk settled in. People still roamed the sidewalks though; it was a never sleeping city. A city where there was as much to do in the day as there was at night. Activities were not lacking. The captives looked on at the world they would never be part of again.

It was only when they were passing the industrial district that there was gunshots and the security bus swerved off the road and crashed into a lamppost, "What the hell?" Smoke filled the bus that sent the convicts into fits of chokes and coughs. Sirens could be heard wailing and more explosions. Squall felt his handcuffs loosen and he saw a young man through the dense, acrid smoke. "Come on, man!"

Squall rushed out of the bus and breathed in the polluted air of the city. He didn't mind, it was better than the pungent air that had invaded the bus. He took a look at the scene around him, two cop cars had arrived but the policemen had been slaughtered and were half hanging out of their vehicles. The same young boy who had set him free clamped him on the shoulder, "What're you waiting for, man? Let's get out of here!"

Squall got into the backseat of a suped-up getaway car, "We are free!" Rodrigo was there as well and seemed ecstatic about the idea of never eating mac and cheese again, "From now on, it's tacos and burritos!"

"El Diabolos himself is waiting for you." The driver looked at Squall through the rearview mirror, "He says he's heard good things about you." There seemed to be three other suped-up vehicles following them, from what Squall could tell.

"From who?" Squall asked, unable to contain his twitching curiosity.

"Confidential. I don't even know." The driver answered.

"Oh yeah man, this is Juan, my little brother." Rodrigo slapped his sibling on the shoulder from the back seat, "And the guy driving there, that's Carlos … El Diabolos' right arm. He's got some good ass kicking techniques, eh, amigo?" The three Spaniards laughed and Squall smiled slightly.

The car ride was short and sweet. All four vehicles swerved into a narrow alleyway and fifteen Diabolos members got out and headed towards a door. Graffiti marked the walls; Squall observed it with an artist's eye and trailed behind the pack.

He was let into what seemed to be a dingy warehouse. "Good job, boys, good job!" A solitary pair of hands began to clap. From the shadows, a big, burly man stepped out. This was the big boss, Diabolos himself, "I'm very, very proud." He motioned for the fourteen members that took part in the mission to a few tables. "Each of those briefcase contains your money … enjoy yourself. Rodrigo, you can rest up. I need to talk to our new friend, here." He motioned for Squall to follow him.

They had walked to the chrome stairway and up to the second floor of the warehouse before Diabolos started speaking, "You've got friends in high places." Were the first words he spoke.

"I wasn't aware." Squall replied, truthfully, "In fact, I didn't think I had friends. Could you tell me who paid you to bail me?" 

"You're a quick boy, fast learner that knows tricks of the trade." Diabolos observed and led him into a separate room. Cluttered with junk food wrappers and different maps and papers, there was a desk and two chairs. "Sit. I can't tell you who bailed you, of course. They paid me for my silence as well." El boss smiled, one tooth was of gold. It was then that Squall realized he had rings on every finger, "They told me to hire you. So here you are. You'll stay here for a few more hours. Take a shower, spend some time with a beautiful Spanish goddess …" The head honcho trailed off.

"Sounds good." Squall stated.

"Your friend even had the courtesy of giving you clothes." Diabolos smiled wryly and handed Squall a bag filled with two pairs of jeans, socks, t-shirts, a sweater, the essentials. "He or she seems to know you quite well."

"Rinoa Heartilly?" Squall asked in utter confusion, still staring at the contents of the bag. He missed Diabolos' surprised and curious expression that he immediately tried to cover.

"Ms. Heartilly? Isn't she the one that put you in that Hellhole in the first place? Would it make sense for her to pay me a hefty sum to bail you out again?" He questioned.

"No. Impossible." Squall concluded and shook his head, "Anyways … is there somewhere where I can get cleaned up?" Diabolos took him out of the room, down a dim hallway and kicked a door open.

"This is your room for now. I'll send some entertainment." He left Squall to look around his new domain. There was one dirty window that overlooked the industrial sector of Deling. The bed mattress seemed to squeak if you only looked at it and the paint was peeling off the walls. But for starters it was better than a jail cell.

He looked to the left and cautiously walked towards the door. It was a bathroom, not of the cleanest sort, but still a bathroom nonetheless. The toilet looked unclean and the mirror was shattered. The tiles on the floor seemed embedded with dirt and other substances. He turned on the shower and cringed. The pipes had been neglected for so long that the water came out brownish with rust. "Oh man …" He sighed a rubbed the back of his neck. After letting the water run for a few minutes, it had returned to the normal translucent color.

He undressed slowly and got in, the warm water was comforting. With the sound of only the rushing water he was able to think straight. Who had paid for him to be bailed out? And why? Who had cut that deal with Diabolos, who was close enough to know what he usually wore? That could have been an educated guess. Any Joe Blow wears a t-shirt and jeans. Things just seemed to be more confusing for him.

When steam blurred the cracked mirror, Squall turned off the water and dried himself. He put on a t-shirt and pants and semi-dried his hair with a towel. He left that towel drape over his shoulders and he went out into his room. "Whoa." He gaped, "He wasn't joking about the entertainment and goddess, was he?" He thought, bemused.

"Hi …" The young woman lay on the bed, smiling seductively.

"Uh … hello." He replied, going stupid, "Is there … a particular job you've come to do?" His eyebrow rose inquisitively.

"Actually … there is." She motioned him over with her index finger. He grinned and went over to the bed thinking, "This is going to be great."

RINOA TWIRLED THE telephone cord in her apartment nervously, "So is it done?" She asked anxiously, "Is he with you right now?"

"In my little cult of Diabolos, Miss Rinoa. You need not to worry, he seems quite healthy. He's spending time with one of our girls right now." The boss of the Diabolos replied at the other end of the line, "Now let's talk money, chica-"

"Spending time with one of your girls? You gave him a whore? What-why? I never told you to do that! Now are you going to charge me extra for her services? I'm not paying!" Rinoa snapped angrily.

"I think you should calm down, senorita. There will be no extra charge and I fail to see what it bothers you that he's cleaning some chica's chimney, now I want to talk cash." Diabolos defended himself, and brought the topic back around currency.

"You'll get your money. Have I ever let you down before?" Rinoa restrained the gnawing urge to start yelling obscenities at the Spaniard again, "What's his lineup of work?"

"You seem very curious of the happenings in his life, Miss Heartilly." The accomplice remarked, "He seemed very pleased with the clothes, by the way. His lineup of work? First, he'll go pick up the money from our regular pushers around town. Next, he'll go pick up your briefcase full of money. Then, and I'll be frank with you, he'll go pick up Miss Trepe to bring her to me so we can speak business."

"Goddamnit!" She yelled in the receiver, "Are you doing this just to spite me?"

"No, I'm doing it for the money. The pick-up will be at the corner of Benshire and Mahogany Avenue. It's in your turf I believe and our friend will be able to find it easily. Have the money ready Monday evening at seven p.m. Whether you show _your_ face or not, I don't care. Adios." He hung up.

She slammed the phone back down and paced around the room angrily. Irvine was sitting on the couch, watching a news bulletin, "I thought you were over him." He remarked to the tyrannous woman.

"What are you still doing in my apartment? Get out! And I am over him for your big, fat information!" She screamed back at him, "Does it look like I care that he's screwing a Spanish whore and that he's about to affiliate himself with Trepe?"

"Yes, actually, you look furious about it." Irvine turned off the TV and grabbed his car keys. He slipped into his coat and looked at his angry boss, "You going to be ok?"

"No." She replied truthfully and sank down into the couch, "I'm not." She rubbed her temples in agony. A migraine had begun and she knew it wasn't about to leave her alone.

"You know … I don't understand your reasoning. If it bothers you so much that he'll be affiliated with those people than why did you jail him in the first place? You know, he's where he is right now entirely because of you. You manipulated the guy till the last drop, Rinoa. If you are over him, than why does it bug you so much? Why'd you bail him?" Irvine asked tentatively. He wondered if he would ever know her real intentions.

"Just leave me alone." Rinoa asked as kindly as the moment allowed, "Just go. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Take care." He called out, opened the door and shut it closed behind him.

"Yeah … Sure …" She mumbled and got up from the couch. She went into her kitchen and searched for her bottle of painkillers that she usually kept in her armoire. She swallowed two down without even the need of water. _He's where he is right now entirely because of you. _It was true. _You manipulated the guy till the last drop. _"Well, now it's finished. He's on his own. On his own and against me." She thought bitterly.

**Important Note: This isn't a GTA-FF8 crossover! The idea for this story was only sparked when playing GTA III and evolved in MY head. NOT A CROSSOVER … ok? GOOD.**


	3. Gambling Opportunities

**Gambling Opportunities**

****

Sun streamed through the slits of Rinoa's semi-closed blinds. She groaned and turned over from her side to her stomach, shoving her face in her pillow to block the disruptive rays. It shouldn't be long until she fell asleep again. However, chance was not on her side this morning as the phone suddenly rang out. It took her a moment to identify the sound and a heavy, sleep-weighted arm reached out towards the nightstand. She fumbled for the receiver and dropped it on the floor. She picked it up and brought it to her ear, "You're dead." Was her muffled greeting to whoever was on the other end. She wasn't a morning person and the idiot on the other end of the line knew that very well but yet he tested the limits. He always tested her goddamn limits.

"No, I'm feeling quite alive, thank you." Irvine's voice replied from the other side of the city, "The sign is shining, baby. It's a great day for business and you've got a series of rendezvous that I set up for you. Mr. Dincht himself, leader of the Wakasenshi. You want some action, I got you some." Rinoa replied with something incoherent to him, "I have no idea what the Hell you just said. I'm in the industrial district right now … it smells like fish here so have yourself some breakfast, it'll keep you from upchucking bile. I'll be at your place in twenty-two minutes and thirty-six seconds."

"Shove your meetings up your ass." But he had already hung up, "I hate you!" She yelled in the receiver. In fear that the operator would come on and ask her if everything was all right, she hung up and began muttering to herself. She turned over to look at her clock however she was already at the edge of the mattress. Rinoa landed, enveloped in covers, with a thud onto the cold plywood floor. She gave off a moan of pain and finally found some strength to get up.

She went about her usual morning routine, slower than usual due to the lack of sleep she had gotten the previous night. First, she took a shower, dried her hair, applied her make-up, picked out her outfit (navy jeans and a beige, tight hooded sweater with a zipper down the front). Her routine ended with her making herself a cup of black coffee and then the doorbell rang, "You aren't ready yet?" Irvine nagged as he followed her in to the kitchen, "I thought I told you I was coming in twenty two minutes and some odd seconds."

She drank her coffee without the slightest indication that she had been paying attention to his complaints on her speed. "Hello? Did you not hear me? I got you some important meetings and all you can do is make them wait? Come on, move it!" He hustled and clapped his hands, "Let's go, let's go!"

She whined in protest and threw the rest of the coffee down the drain. "I didn't want to do anything today." She proclaimed while getting her coat on, pouting.

"Except wallow in your self-pity? It's a beautiful day; you'll find it'll cheer up your seemingly depressing life. We're going to make money! Don't you love the sound of that? Cha-ching! Bills and bills of-"

"With Dincht?" Rinoa teased, laughing; "Now that's some good humor, Irvine."

"That was rude." He remarked without a smile on his face, "I believe he'd be a good ally. Plus, he assures us more than your hair-brained schemes, Heartilly." The cowboy left the kitchen to go into the living room. She guessed he was now angry with her.

"Have you been reading the dictionary again? _Schemes_ … _wallow … self-pity_. Since when do you use big words like that Kinneas?" She rolled her eyes, adjusted the collar of her jean jacket so she wouldn't look like Dracula, and trailed behind her companion, "And I never doubted his value but he's not the type of guy you make money with."

"Are you ready?" He asked, his annoyance going in a crescendo.

"Yes, keep your pants on." She chided innocently.

They took the elevator down to the garage where Irvine had parked the same black Lexus GS300. "Got any briefings on the guy? I've never met him before … and actually, I wasn't planning to but you know, since you so gracefully arranged it without my consent." Rinoa asked wearily as she got into the passenger seat, wondering why the hell he always did this to her.

"Yeah, I got it all prepared for Princess." He retorted sarcastically and reached to the back seat to retrieve her a thick brown folder. Irvine backed out of the parking space and drove through the garage expertly. As soon as they were onto the trafficked street, he turned up the radio to what Rinoa called 'nerve-racking music'. Bass was pumped to the max while the lead vocals belted out how he would knock up his girlfriend.

She gave out a cry of frustration and changed the station in a wild frenzy of button pressing. Irvine yelled in protest, "I liked that song!" He grimaced incredulously at the new music that played from his car speakers. They had landed on an oldies station, "I can't believe you like this shit." 

"I never said I did! But anything is better than that song!" She snapped back angrily and returned to her files, reading precariously, unable to concentrate. "What is this fucking shit? Why couldn't you get a guy who typed full sentences! This is all fragmented and shitty!" 

"That was a great song!" He argued back, ignoring her complaints about the report and switched again to his beloved station, "They are a great band!" His look took one of a small child that knew something he shouldn't, "I know why you don't like that song. Because it's all about having sex and God knows _you're_ in deficient lately!" 

She glared fiercely at him, so fiercely in fact that it was a miracle that he simply didn't spontaneously combust on the spot, "Mind your own fucking business!" She raged tyrannously. 

"Christ, did anyone piss in your cereal this morning?" Irvine gawked at her explosion. 

"I didn't have time to eat this morning because some shithead woke me up at half past six!" She snapped back viciously. There was a moment's silence where she recollected herself, "Sorry about that. Feelin' edgier, that's all." 

"Yeah … lack of sex will do that to you." Irvine forgave her empathetically. She glowered at him silently until he remarked it and cleared his throat nervously, "Never mind, I didn't say anything then. Uh … back to the briefing …" He cleared his throat a few times more until her death looks faded a bit, "Well, Zell Dincht is the leader of the Wakasenshi … 23 years-old. He's extremely devoted to the martial arts, his grandfather taught him apparently. Other than that, he's a good guy … nothing really special to mention. He's not schizophrenic, no nervous ticks …" Irvine trailed off aimlessly. 

"Any love interest? Heartstrings we can pull at?" Rinoa flipped through the file, unsure of what she was looking for and if she'd ever find it. 

"Pff … hard to tell." Irvine admitted hesitantly, "He's a tough nut to crack, our sources have … not really been able to get some dirt on him. So, threats aren't on our side. I doubt he's got a girlfriend, if that's what you mean. He deals a bit in prostitution, kind of like Diabolos. However, he does have an associate." Irvine grinned, "A certain Selphie Tilmitt. Now, as burly and manly looking as you may imagine her to be for being part of a martial arts gang … she's actually five foot and one inch … probably weighs less than a hundred pounds." Irvine seemed to be holding in hysterical laughter, "And she wields nunchakus." 

"Great … if she's like Trepe, I don't care how attached he is to her, we're burning her in the central plaza of Deling with the reason that she's a witch." Rinoa replied heartlessly, "Any other things I should be aware of? Any cases of child molestation or rape pinned on this guy? Because if so I am not dealing with him."

Irvine sensed the sarcasm and rolled his eyes, "No, he's a clean guy. Well, minus the illegal activities he's involved in but you know … nothing like that." He gesticulated in the air, dismissing the conversation and turned on Harksin road, into the industrial district. The buildings were older here, their facades infested with rude graffiti stating obscenities. Trash littered the sidewalks and small groups huddled around every street corner, indubitably buying drugs from the local dealers. "We're in a rough part of town." Irvine stated dully as he turned on Fern street and continued east until he reached a dojo, "And here's his front."

"How original." Rinoa droned dryly. She tucked the document she was reading under the passenger seat and got out of the car, "Hey, Irvine … if he isn't involved with Selphie why don't you put your manly charm to good use and start some influencing?"

"Or you could always flirt nicely with Dincht." Irvine suggested casually, "It would solve your deficiency problem and gain you a new ally."

"I am not fooling around with an Asian guy." Rinoa snapped and slammed the car door harder than she should have. She glared at Irvine and approached the dojo. Irvine came up behind her and grabbed her shoulders, "Don't touch me!"

He leaned in a whispered anxiously in her ear, "Ok, that's another thing … he's not Asian. So don't look dumbfounded when you see him."

"He's … not?" Rinoa asked, bemused. 

"No. You are drowning in stereotypes, you know?" Irvine muttered as two Wakasenshi members came out of the dojo to greet them, "Be nice." The cronies were both dressed in black pants. They were both bald with goatees and dark sunglasses. They bowed slightly and Irvine reciprocated. "Konichiwa." He greeted.

The two martial arts masters looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Rinoa bit the inside of her mouth not to laugh. The first man turned to Rinoa, "He has been expecting you." The man motioned for her and Irvine to enter the dojo, "Go up the stairs all the way. You shall find the door."

"Thank you." Rinoa replied, emphasizing her English not for the men, but more for Irvine's sake. She pushed open the door and began climbing the stairs. When they were out of earshot she turned to Irvine and teased, "You've already succeeded in looking like a dumbass." He scowled at her, as she imitated a mystical voice, "You are de-evolving, young grasshopper."

"Aha … ha …" He began laughing monotonously in a sarcastic way, "So funny …"

They climbed the second flight of stairs, then the third, and the forth until there were no more stairs to climb. They walked cautiously down a hallway with a red carpet and walls adorned with golden symbols. The long body of a painted dragon bordered the only door made of layers of rice paper. Rinoa pushed it open.

"Hey, come in and sit." A voice called from within. They advanced steadily to a low table that could have passed as a coffee table. "Just … uh … sit on the cushions." A blond man motioned from the table, "It might look cheap but they're comfortable." He was the most un-Asian man you could come upon. His light blonde hair was spiked up and a tattoo ran down one side of his face. He was wearing a dark pullover and navy cargo pants. He extended his hand, "Nice to meet you. I'm Zell."

Rinoa dropped down onto a cushion and shook his hand, "Hey, I'm Rinoa." Something made her feel already at ease with this man. Something so frank about him, a transparent kind of guy. She had seen this trait in someone before … Squall Leonhart. As soon as she realized this, her guards went up.

Irvine looked down at the cushion and slowly leaned down to position himself accordingly. "I'm Irvine." He decided to lose the Asian greetings and accent. His eyes wandered around the room where katanas and other traditional things decorated the already rich walls. Kanji was painted in gold as borders.

"So, I guess we should talk business, eh?" Zell smiled a big toothy grin. His teeth were perfect; straight and white. "Well, we'll be honest with you … we do need an ally. Conditions will be applied and stuff. Uh … you guys want something to eat? Hotdogs?" He had nothing of an Asian. Nothing at all.

Rinoa seemed to flinch at the proposal for hotdogs instead of dumplings but she casually overlooked it, "No thank you. I'd like to discuss money issues. You deal with drugs … do you import them?"

"Yup, we have to. D.C.P.D. is getting cocky. We've had over thirty raids this month. That means day by day, sources in the city are diminishing and we can't afford the blame that the officials have been placing on us. The safest thing is to import."

"So you're familiar with DeGracia? They run the airports. You have to go by them, am I right?" Rinoa cross-examined.

"Of course. We have to run our supplies by them each time a shipment comes in. They keep quiet and we pay a percentage of the profits to them." Zell explained, "Not a package has been seized yet so it's a method that works. Though it is a bitch. They're a costly bunch of assholes."

Rinoa smiled, "Yeah."

A short girl bounced in the room unexpectedly making Irvine jump up in surprise. Rinoa had no doubts that this was the famous 'Selphie Tilmitt'. "Oh, this is Selphie. She's my partner. Sort of …" Zell pointed to the happy girl.

"Ooh! Guests!" She plopped herself down onto a cushion on Zell's side of the table, "I'm Selphie. I pretty much run this place while this lazy bum whines and complains." Zell muttered something under his breath, "You must be Rinoa, can I call you Rinny?"

"No problem." Rinoa replied astounded at this girl's comportment. She was so simple and easy going that it was scary. This attitude was scarce on the streets these days and it was a breath of fresh air compared to the uptight, money-obsessed people she usually dealt with. 

Selphie smiled in glee, "Woohoo! This is going to be so simple! I've done my homework, figures! Trepe's allied with DeGracia and that's an obstacle for you. So, here's our little blood oath. You give us protection from the Diabolos, since they don't like us very much, and we'll import drugs for you. It'll be easier since you will have no fear of being caught because of Trepe's manipulation of the airports. Deal? You don't always have to make it so complicated, Zell." She slapped her partner in the back of the head.

"I have a feeling that this is the beginning of a lifelong friendship, Selphie." Rinoa smiled in awe. Nothing had ever been accomplished this fast.

SQUALL'S MORNING HAD proved to be an eventful one. After being awoken by a charming Hispanic goddess, he had taken another trip to the shower and had dressed for the day. His outfit had not differed than the one from the previous day. Diabolos had given a hearty breakfast and had given him his first assignment, "Fail this one, amigo and you'll have to take your bags and leave. Carlos will accompany you."

Carlos had driven him around the district. His job was to retrieve the money from the dealers and head back into the car. Things had gone smoothly. He had headed into the deserted alleyways and salvaged the briefcases filled with green bills that were hidden under dumpsters, debris or simply out in the open. On occasion he had to knock at a metal door in the alley and a thuggish dealer would open, hand over the cash and slam the door back in his face.

The only irregularity that had taken place was when he had bent over to grab case #11, the dealer had ambushed him. The pair had rolled on the ground until Squall had been able to squish the dealer to the floor and punch the daylights out of him. He had gotten up, grabbed the case and kicked the dealer once more in the ribs. After reporting to Carlos, the silent Spaniard had gotten out of the car and extinguished the remaining life of the traitor, "He will not do business for the Diabolos again. Traitors are dealt with accordingly." Carlos told Squall, almost as a warning.

They returned to the warehouse where Diabolos counted out five hundred dollars and handed it to Squall. "You did good, Leonhart, you did good." He tapped him on the shoulder, and reached into the drawer of his desk, "This is a pistol, and a switchblade. Means of protection, you know what I mean? The gun don't have a silencer so you be careful where you shoot it." He reached in for another item and drew out a pager, "My means of communication with you. Always keep an eye on it." He slid the items across the desk, "You're all set. Go down to the corner of Benshire and Mahogany Avenue. I believe these are familiar to you. There will be men waiting for you. They will give you a briefcase. Bring it back to me at all costs."

"No problem." Squall replied confidently, "Where are my wheels?"

Diabolos led him to a garage sector of the warehouse. Many suped-up cars were parked improperly but el Boss pointed to a specific car. It was an old Chevrolet with rust eating away at its steel frame. Squall shrugged and demanded the keys. They were dropped into his open palm and he was back on the street in a matter of seconds. It felt good to be back at the wheel of a car again. He switched it to a radio station and basked into the freedom and music that were at his disposition.

_99 red balloons_

_Floating in the summer sky_

_Panic bells, it's red alert_

_There's something here from somewhere else_

_The war machine, it springs to life_

_Opens up an eager eye_

_Focuses it on the sky_

_As 99 red balloons go by_

He swerved out of the district and the scenery got better. There were less homeless around, less graffiti that stained the buildings, and less trash that blew around on the cracked pavement. As he drove to the heart of the city, his thoughts pieced together like a puzzle and became a clearer picture. He slowed down when he turned onto Benshire, watching for Mahogany Avenue. When he found it, he turned into the 'Midnight Music' parking lot. Squall parked, got out, locked his car and started walking to the group of guys in the middle of the lot.

"Hey …" He greeted, unsure of what he was really looking for.

One of the turned, "Hey, I'm Marty. Are you from the Diabolos?" He had a metallic briefcase in one hand.

"Yeah … is that the money?" Squall pointed to the case.

Marty grinned and nodded, "Un huh, some odd thousand bucks. You can count if you want, we got all night." The boys in the back of him laughed as Marty handed over the case. Squall's poker face did not waver.

"No, that's alright. Who owns this turf?" He asked as he looked around Underground Universe, "This is _your_ turf, right?"

"Yeah, it damn well is." Marty smirked, "I'm slightly offended that you don't know who we are. The Syndicate. A little Diabolos like you should know our name."

"I'm not a Diabolos, I just work for them." Squall stated boldly, "I just got out of jail, so I wouldn't know who you are. What's this money for?" 

Marty flinched and then shrugged, "I don't know, man."

"Who's your boss?" Squall continued his interrogation.

"What's with the cross-examination?" Marty demanded to know, slightly annoyed, "Don't piss me off, buddy. Just take that case and be on your way. Next time we see a Diabolos affiliate here, we've been told to shoot the Hell out of him."

"Ok, by who? Just tell me by who?" Squall took a few steps back towards his car.

"By Irvine Kinneas. That's who. Get the Hell out of here." Marty answered and the gang of 'The Syndicate' dispersed into the lot. A few went into the night club and some retreated themselves entirely. Squall cautiously got back into his vehicle and drove away, back to the Diabolos HQ. He parked the car back in its spot and rushed back into the warehouse. 

"Got it? Good." Diabolos greeted and snatched the case away, "Excellent …" He flipped through the money, calculated another five hundred and passed it to Squall, "There you go. You're done for tonight, go have yourself some fun. Be here tomorrow at ten thirty though. No later."

"Can I borrow a car?" Squall asked eagerly, "I can't really go anywhere without a car."

"Steal one, amigo. I don't care. We need all the cars tonight." Diabolos replied, engrossed in his money.

Squall sighed and left the warehouse. He walked four blocks to the rental car shop and paid the clerk seventy dollars to rent a Toyota Corolla '91 that looked as if it had survived a very violent war. Squall told the clerk that he would bring the car back tonight, or at the latest in the morning. He took the keys, thanked the man and drove off into the streets. His first stop was at a fast food restaurant.

The handsome handyman ordered two hotdogs, a large portion of fries and a mega-gulp drink. Enjoying every bite of good deep-fried foods was something he had missed in jail. Next to the sticky macaroni, this was unhealthy heaven. He took the time to watch everything around him: the kids complaining to their mothers, the smell of oil, the dirty, greasy floor and the dirty, greasy men that piled the food on the trays.

As he was casually sipping his coke, a child of about six came up beside him and tugged on his sleeve, "Mister?" Squall looked down with a raised eyebrow, "Do you have two dollars and seventy-eight cents?"

"Where's your mom, kid?" Squall asked the little girl. She was wearing faded jeans and a baby blue, hooded sweater. Her face was clean and her hair was nicely combed and tucked behind her ears, "What are you doing here alone?" He didn't ask this out of actual concern for the child but in the hope that someone would step up and claim her. 

"My brother is at the dojo and told me to get some food but the man said I'm two dollars and seventy-eight cents short so I was wondering if you had two dollars and seventy-eight cents. Do you?" The little girl looked up hopefully at the man.

Squall sighed in defeat and reached in his back pocket for his wallet. He opened it and handed the girl a ten-dollar bill, "Scram." But the six year-old only looked at him with admiration, "What're you looking at me for? Go buy your food."

"Thank you very much, sir." She smiled at him, "You're a very nice man. Like my brother."

"Yeah? Well, that's great." Squall replied absent-mindedly, his eyes now scanning a flock of girls in mini-skirts.

"My brother can't be here right now because he's meeting with important people. They should be gone by the time I get back though. Do you know who Rinoa Heartilly is?" Squall's eyes diverted from the pleasurable scene, back to the child in awe. "Yeah, she's really important! She's who my brother is meeting. She's the leader of The Syndicate, I don't really understand it all. I saw her coming in the dojo, she's really pretty."

Squall chewed nervously on the straw of his drink, "Rinoa Heartilly … with Irvine Kinneas? _The Syndicate?_" He asked the child but then found it ridiculous that he was questioning a six-year-old on the whereabouts of his ex-girlfriend.

"That's right! Her friend is Irvine Kinneas and that's the thingy they lead … the … Sydney … Cate, thingy!" The girl clapped her hands in excitement at the man's knowledge, "You know a lot!"

"She's with … Irvine Kinneas …" Squall stated numbly, "Do you know if she's with Irvine? Like … you know … like … Barbie and Ken?" He tried to put it in simple language. Once again, he found himself questioning why he was so interested and why he seemed to care. He should be asking if she was still there.

"What do you mean?" The little girl looked back at him, confused.

He felt stupid, so very stupid, "I mean … are they boyfriend and girlfriend?" Had he really asked that question? Or was he hallucinating his obvious lack of intelligence?

The girl put up her hands, "I dunno!" She smiled maliciously then, "Why, do you have a crush?" She had elementary mannerisms, and that was when he realized that he was talking to a six-year-old.

"No. I don't." He replied and turned back to the melamine table. He began sipping his drink once more, trying as hard as possible to ignore the child that was beside him.

"Thank you sir! I'll tell my brother and if he can find you again, you can betcha that he'll give you back the money!" She scampered off to the counter to place her order, leaving Squall to deal with his demons.

"I can't believe you, Rinoa." He thought angrily, chewing on the straw, "You are such a bitch. I can't believe it."

**Additional Disclaimer 1: I do not own the song '99 Red Balloons'. It is owned by many different artists but the version I used belongs to Goldfinger.**


	4. Cutting The Threads

**Cutting The Threads**

****

Squall had entered the east side casino with roughly nine hundred dollars in his wallet. He had been raised in Esthar, where gambling was a hobby, a passion, a life. His father had taught him the basics of craps at a young age and he had learned the tricks of the trade quickly. Upon arriving at the tables, Squall bet heavily. Five hundred disappeared within minutes but the dice got hot and Squall pocketed eighteen hundred, clean. He reluctantly pulled himself away from the table and went over to the mini-bar where he ordered a beer. "You look like a lucky boy." The blonde waitress smiled seductively and he succumbed willingly.

"Yeah, it's not everyday you see a Goddess serve you a beer." He put to good use his charming skills and smiled innocently. The casino's neon lit up her face but not as much as Squall's comments, she giggled. He flirted a bit more before taking a temporary leave for the poker tables. He returned down seven hundred dollars down, ordered another beer.

His luck would get hot. The money would too.

RINOA LEFT ZELL'S dojo at approximately seven thirty as time was not waiting for her schedule. It trickled down rapidly and she had to excuse herself, "I have other matters which require my attention." Irvine had flinched but let it pass. She shook Zell's hand, then Selphie's and thanked them both. The partners descended down the stairs and took the road again.

It was five minutes into the drive that Rinoa flipped open her phone. In respect, Irvine kept his mouth shut. She dialed a number and waited while the call was transferred, "Hi, how're you?" She asked politely, "I'm fine, thank you. So where is he? You're an angel, Nick, thanks. I'll be on the top of the multi-story parking in fifteen minutes."

"Who the fuck was that? Saint-Nicolas?" Irvine joked as she flipped the conversation closed. He laughed at his own joke.

"A very nice, good-looking, charming guy that I hired for a psychopathic low price. Showing leg does help in business you know." Irvine snorted and waved his hands as a signal that he needed no further details, "Oh come on, I didn't sleep with the guy. I only manipulated him in a nice, clean way. Go to the multi-story parking on Cedar Boulevard. Near the casinos. Drive to the top. Everything's set up there."

"Could you brief me through this one because I have no clue what you're talking about." The scenery whizzed by as Irvine turned onto a different street. He waited patiently but received no answer from his silent partner. After his fortitude ran out he hissed at her, "It's Leonhart again! Why the fuck are we doing this?"

"I'm finalizing a bargain, ok?" She admitted innocently, "I swear, this'll be the last contact I'll ever have with him, even though that's none of your business. It's really none of your concern who I keep in touch with anyways, ok? So just follow my instructions, please? I don't see why it bothers you so much." 

"It bothers me because I can't stand these fucking girly crushes!" Irvine snapped and Rinoa only gaped in absolute offense, "If you're want to fucking fuck the fucking guy then fucking do so and lets it be over with for Christ's sake! You're being a goddamn immature bitch! This isn't kindergarten anymore, Rinoa! I thought you were past all this emo shit! Now you're turning all fucking soft on me, Christ!"

"I'm not turning fucking soft! Just leave me the Hell alone, Irvine. We're not all heartless bastards that fuck to calm down or just for fun!" Rinoa bit back with blackened, hot anger, "It's not a school girl crush, it's not about sex, it's not about love … it's about a deal. It's about someone who, once upon a time, trusted me. What I did to him was for the best but I can't help regretting sometimes because down to the facts, he was the only one who actually believed in me. He is the only person that I can't be indebted to, under any circumstances."

There was a silence and Irvine turned on his left flasher. It was barely a murmur but still clearly audible, "You loved him. You really loved him. You still do."

"Bullshit, Kinneas. You don't know what you're talking about." Rinoa replied but Irvine picked up the slight quaver in her voice, "I don't have what it takes to love someone." The remainder of the trip remained silent. 

They drove east for ten minutes until arriving at a white, multi-story parking lot set up right near the local mall. The shopping center was closed however, making the lot empty except for the odd car. Irvine paid the required fee from the driver's window and he was permitted in. He went up ramps four times until finally arriving at the top.

The driver cut the engine and Rinoa got out. Four guys waited on the side and Irvine felt obliged to follow her so he could beat the shit out of any who even tried to touch her. "Hey boys, good work. You're worth the money." She smiled particularly at a handsome man, wearing dark jeans and a dark pullover. He had gray eyes, bleached platinum hair and beard stubble, "Did you put the tracker on his car?"

Nick nodded and she smiled again, "Great, thanks. Let me guess … he's in the casino?" She raised her eyebrow in the general direction of the impressive money-raking structure, owned by whom else? DeGracia.

Nicolas nodded again and spoke up finally, "Yeah, had a pretty hot night too. He's Hell on wheels at those craps tables."

Rinoa smiled genuinely and closed her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief, "Good for him." Irvine rolled his eyes in the background but continued to watch Nick closely. He didn't like the look of him, someone he wouldn't trust. He mentally cursed Rinoa for being so credulous, "How will we find out when he's leaving?" She had the perfect view of the entrance and of the payphones next to it. 

"We have someone inside." Nick explained, "He'll radio us when he's leaving."

"Excellent." Rinoa approved, "It should be soon." She saw Nick's questioning glance, "He's the responsible type."

They waited five minutes until the radio cackled at Nick's waist, "Target leaving!" Rinoa reached for her phone and flipped it open, "Tell me you have the payphones number … right?" Nick reached in his back pocket and handed Rinoa a paper folded in quarters, "Oh, you even highlighted and narrowed down my numbers, great!" She thanked gratefully and dialed the first highlighted number just as Squall exited the casino.

SQUALL'S GAZE FELL upon the payphone first. They hardly rang and when they did it was some sort of psychopath playing a joke or a game. Pedestrians looked in wonder at the ringing machine but made no move to pick it up. Squall took a few tentative steps towards it.

Atop the parking, Rinoa encouraged him telepathically, "Come on baby, you know you want to." She thought, amused at his unmatched curiosity. Relief swelled in her like a balloon … he was still so predictable.

Squall finally picked up the phone and brought it to his ear but he said nothing to the caller. He only waited for him or her to respond. He didn't wait very long, "Hi baby, haven't spoken to you in a while." He froze. A sweet voice, one he recognized. His heart picked up a beat and his palms became sweaty. His breathing became shallow and quick. He began looking at his surroundings nervously. Where was she?

"Don't bother, sweetie, just listen. Get to the payphone across 'Charlie's Diner' at the end of this street where it crosses onto Stonehenge Avenue. Be quick." Squall was about to ask more questions but was cut short when she hung up.

He slammed the phone back onto the cradle and made a dash for his rental. He fumbled with the keys for a while and finally ignited the engine. He zoomed down the Boulevard, cutting random people off. Using the handbrake, the tires squealed and rubber burned as he swerved right near the indicated, ringing payphone, he got out of the car, ran to it, unhooked the line and before Rinoa could even speak he spoke out, a bit breathless, "Where the fuck are you? And how do you know when to call?

"None of your business. And there's a tracker on your car. No, you can't know where, that would ruin my fun." Rinoa answered cheerfully, "The handbrake technique was good though and I can't believe you once called me a crazy driver. Either way, get to the payphone on the corner of Stonehenge and Burlington … just drive north on Stonehenge." He heard the 'click' of her cutting the connection. He roared in frustration and smashed the receiver back in place.

It took him double the time to get to the next payphone and the tone of deception that Rinoa used when announcing that the stopwatch didn't lie was enough to send him hurling swear words in her general direction, "Come on, Squally … you're slipping. Make me proud; get to the payphone on the corner of Burlington and Shepard. Ride west on Burlington. You have less than a minute and forty seconds."

"NO!" Squall yelled into empty air for she had already hung up her end of the line. Squall calmly replaced the phone into place and strode back to his car. Within the shell of his automobile however, he because a madman as he raced down Burlington at mach three speed. He thanked the Gods that cops weren't around. 

He braked abruptly, with the pedal this time, left the engine running while he got out of the car and picked up the ringing phone once more, "I'm sick of this Heartilly, I'm running around like a fucking hamster while you're probably pissing yourself laughing, wherever you are."

"Oh, I'm not that mean. Though it is amusing how you're actually listening to what I'm telling you to do." Squall clenched his fists together and was about to hang up when she spoke again, "If you keep down Shepard Street towards the shore, you'll find a warehouse. The door of the rented area 4C is open. Go inside, you'll find what I've been meaning to give you."

" … Ok." He replied as coldly as he could muster.

"Oh, and Squall?" He was about to hang up but something made the apparatus come back to his ear again. He was silent, as she continued, "Please don't try and find me. This is good-bye … we both want it this way." She was answered by the clicking of him hanging up. She flipped her phone closed. It was done now.

Squall continued calmly down Shepard until he reached the shore, the docks with warehouses that dotted the scenery. He drove around the warehouse until he found 4C. He let himself in and looked around the empty room. He flipped on the light switch and a single light lit up in the center of the room. His eyes followed the beam and landed upon a briefcase. He clicked the locks open and flipped it open.

He picked up a note that was placed above green wads of money. The handwriting was familiar to him.

_Hey baby,_

_ If you remember, I do owe you some .5 of a million. You'll find it all right here, counted to the last bill. I know you won't throw it around. Use it to your benefit. Don't take it as a token of my apology because I know you aren't willing to forgive. After you read this note, forget me. Let's pretend we aren't even acquaintances. And don't get in my way, I don't want to hurt you. Bye-bye pretty boy._

He crumpled the note, snapped the briefcase shut and dragged it off the floor. Mixed feelings bubbled within him. The first was red, hot anger that possessed him enough to go find her and kill her. The other was gratefulness that she had actually remembered, even more, kept the end of the bargain that they had shook on a year ago.

Once he was back in his rental, he clicked open the briefcase once more and ran his hands atop the nearly stacked wads of money. First thing tomorrow, he'd buy a cozy little apartment in the heart of the city and a good car. His business would have to be taken care of early because he had a 'meeting' with Diabolos at 10:30 a.m.

He shut the briefcase and set it down in the seat next to him. That night, he drove to a mid-class hotel and tried to sleep. He tossed and turned, unable to wish away the only thought in his mind: Rinoa Heartilly. It was near midnight when he finally yawned and stretched in his bed. He got up reluctantly and walked over to the window that overlooked a part of the city. "Where the Hell are you, Rinoa?" He thought, rubbing his temples sleepily, " … This is far from over. I'm not just going to step aside." _This is good-bye … we both want it this way. _"No, it's only _you_ who wants it that way. This is far from good-bye."

He made his silent promise.

WHEN SQUALL WAS swearing his vows, Rinoa was at home, slipping in and out consciousness while the television schedule carried on. The news bulletins, the stock market follow-up, the late night movies. Her eyes closed for minutes and then snapped back open, followed by a groan of annoyance. She was lying on the couch, head resting on a pillow. She had kicked Irvine out when he was only adding weight to her migraine. Her hand had more then once reached for the phone and dialed half of Nick's cellular phone number, only to be replaced on the cradle. She couldn't call him. It was too soon. She had just thrown the final rose on the casket of her past love. She wasn't ready.

So instead, she lay there, terribly alone and longing for a male presence. More precisely, she longed for a Squall Leonhart to suddenly appear and kiss away all her insecurities. He was the only one who could, though he didn't know it himself. She had done well to keep that a secret. It was unfair to him but it was a term of security for her.

Presently, her mind was conscious. Her eyes glazed at the screen as if it were supposed to magically take away the boredom that left her restless. She let out a small sigh and felt the floor for the remote. She emerged victorious and began flipping through the channels. What was usually on at this hour? Nothing worth watching, but what could one do if even sleep couldn't carry away the burden on her shoulders?

The phone suddenly rang, sending a shock coursing through her tired body. She dropped the remote instinctively and took a moment to recollect herself and balance out her insane heartbeat. She grabbed the cordless off the end table and pressed the 'Talk' button, "Hello?" She murmured in the receiver.

"Rinoa!" Irvine's ecstatic voice greeted from the other end, her eyes darkened, "Guess what? You'll never guess what! Just try it … guess what?" He sounded half-drunk, half-drugged. The cacophony of noises in the background set the scene for a membership nightclub. Her jaw clenched in absolute rage.

"What?" She asked bluntly, coldly, harshly, "What, Irvine? What?" She failed miserably at trying to act as excited as he was. Then again, he was most likely stoned so he would not notice the difference between a genuine comment and really pathetic acting skills.

"Senior Almasy made a call on my little phoney-o here and guess-a what?" He slurred out drunkenly, his excitement still detectable, "He's got el money-o! So now, we're blood brothers! Isn't that cool? Allies all around us! Our-" She pressed the end button on her phone to cut him off and in a fit of fury she threw the cordless at the wall, making a dent and sent the phone splitting in two.

To no one in particular she yelled out hopelessly, "You're a dumbass, Kinneas!" Her fist clenched and she considered making a few more dents in the wall. She contained herself quite well. Instead of ripping her domain to shreds she stood up straight and glared at the television. She breathed in and out calmly, following a set beat. When she felt more relaxed she sat back down but the phone rang again. Since her cordless was in pieces, she would have to get the phone in the bedroom. "Oh yeah, whatever." She shouted back at the incessant rings, "Go fuck yourself!" Refusing to get up for the phone she just sat there until the caller would give up. Unfortunately, it was resilient. 

Finally, the answering machine clicked on, "Hi, you've reached Rinoa Heartilly. I'm not home right now so please leave your message after the beep." She groaned at the 'originality' of her message. The voice at the other end was one that was ever so familiar to her. It sent shivers down her spine, panic mode ensued and her eyes grew wide.

"I know you're there, Rinoa. Answer. You have ten seconds."

"NO!" She yelled out in protest and scrambled up from the couch. She ran into her room, jumped across her bed and picked up the phone. Doing her best not to show her obvious lack of breath she managed a reasonable greeting, "Hello father."

"Hello Rinoa." Caraway answered gruffly from the other end.

"So, are you having fun playing 'Godfather' in Deling?" She asked casually, just to let him know that she knew, "Is it better than politics? I hear you're not too popular lately."

James Caraway was silent for a moment and then began his cross-examination, "Might I ask how you found me out?"

"Oh, come on. I'm not that thickheaded. DeGracia, Wolfe, and Fernandez … all airport companies and not a scandal in years. No court room battles, no turf wars, no excess advertising, no bashing. It's too … too … too _unified_. No one has these types of allies, my dearest parent. There's no scramble for the gold so it got me thinking … it must just all be going to one big bank account."

"Of course." Caraway congratulated her observations, "You're smarter than he thinks you are."

"Pardon me?" Rinoa snapped back, knowing very well that he must have meant Seifer, "Either or, is there a reason why you've phoned at such an ungodly hour?" 

"Yes. Your allying with Zell Dincht will not help you smuggle those drugs across the borders, Rinoa. Dearly sorry, but I know each move you make." She remained silent so he continued on, "Not to mention, you were on my territory today. Don't start acting up and just stay in line. I don't want to hurt your toys." She bit her lip as he went on with his threats, "This is a game of chess, my dear. You've lost too many pieces. Your money is your king." He stopped his lecture, "A game of life … and you are only a pawn. Check mate." He hung up. She slammed her end down.

It was the second phone that Rinoa had broken in one night.

SEIFER ALMASY DRANK his martini slowly, observing the blonde beauty that was poised before him, sipping her drink as casually as she cared to, "So, Seifer … what's on the news?" Quistis Trepe crossed her legs, her eye contact with the young man never breaking.

"I think I caught myself a Heartilly." Seifer smirked and took another swallow of his beverage, "But you never really know with her. To tell you the truth, my impatience is increasing. Then again … when we have her, there will be no failing."

"Of course not. The plot is flawless." Quistis observed her drink with an expert's eye and took another taste, "But just in case … don't let me down, Seifer. She's pissed me off for long enough." Her eyes went from the cherry in her glass to the emerald eyes of her ally.

"I wouldn't do that, you know me." Seifer leaned in towards her, "But … we still need a hit man." Seifer cupped her chin in his hand and drew her face closer to his.

"It's taken care of. Diabolos might have someone. I'll have to get a good look at him first, though." Her smile grew wider and she allowed herself to be coaxed towards him, "Even better, he had old connections with Rinoa … a certain … _ex-boyfriend_." Seifer shook with absolute glee.

"_That_ is the essence of 'bitch'." Seifer laughed, "I love it." His lips reached for hers and they met for only a brief moment before being pulled apart, "The only thing against us is her unpredictability. We'll have to watch that. Shouldn't be too long until The Syndicate is slammed to the ground leaving the field of expansion for Almasy and Trepe." Both laughed in pleasure. The board was set … the pawns were moving … the queen was watching. Check.


	5. Big Investments

**Big Investments**

****

Squall had set the hotel alarm clock to six o'clock in the morning and at that precise time, the radio turned on and music filled the room. Squall lifted a heavy hand and squashed out the sounds with a mighty smack. He tossed a bit in the sheets for a while and decided on a warm shower. Business had to be taken care of early.

He stripped down in the bathroom and succumbed to the warm water. It woke him up slowly, not too brusquely and he was able to think clearly, though the steam soon etched itself across the glass. The first question on his mind was, "Why did Rinoa keep the end of her bargain?" Maybe she was a woman of her word. But that would still leave her betrayal unexplained for. "Why would she rid herself of me if it wasn't for the money she owed me? Was I a pain in the ass?" The situation blurred.

He turned off the water and wrapped a white towel around his waist. He stepped out of the steamy room and went for the television remote. He picked a news channel and listened for a split second before picking up his garments off the floor and pulling them back on. After zipping his jeans he reached for his t-shirt but stopped when a headline caught his attention, "There is still no news as to the escapees from the crashed jail bus. It is said that the three suspects are still at large and the police have had no leads on the identities of the men."

"Three?" Squall asked the television set. The Diabolos had bailed him and Rodrigo out. Who was the third person? And how did he escape? Squall rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully and began pulling on his t-shirt slowly. When he was done, he continued to stare at the television. The anchor had moved onto sports news. He clicked it off and returned to the bathroom where he brushed his teeth and shaved. Twenty minutes later he had his running shoes on and was just about to slip into his jacket to leave the room for good. 

As a force of habit he looked around the hotel room, scanning for things he may have forgotten. It was a routine that he did when he had shared hotel rooms with Rinoa. She always managed to forget something, no matter how important or essential it was to have around. It was a blessing when they had finally gotten an apartment.

He wondered if she still had that apartment. Chances pointed to 'no'. If she didn't want him to know where he could find her so to avoid contact, she would have certainly sold the apartment and moved to a different district entirely. He ran his hand through his still dampish hair and opened the door into the hotel hallways. He shut it softly and made his way to the elevator.

He dropped his spare key down at the reception, paid his bill and left the hotel through the parking lot. His first stop was a BMW establishment. The salesman looked eager to sell in his checkered suit as he pointed at various, expensive, automobiles that they presently had in their collection, "And that one's a fine car." He pointed to a 645Ci, coupe model. "Top speed 155 miles per hour. Six speed gearbox, eight cylinders, 325 horsepower, leather interior, fully equipped!" Even though Squall had no idea what the man had just told him he nodded smiling, "Bargain price - $80,000!"

Squall continued nodding but his smile faded slightly, "With all do respect, I have the feeling you're screwing me." He declared to the 'honest' thief bluntly.

The salesman put on a big, toothy, fake smile, "No, no, sir. I assure you that this is a bargain price. There's no mileage on the car! It's brand, spanking new!" The pitchman tapped the hood of the car and winked, "You don't want to pass this up."

"Ok … let's bargain here." Squall's voice lowered and he leaned in closer, "I have more in my pocket than you probably make in an entire year. I'm offering you the chance to make your one-month salary right now. I'll buy the car for $65,000. I'll give you a thousand bucks to take my present wheels back to the rental shop. How's that?"

"Actually, I make $2490 a month. Not counting commission." The salesman smiled shaking his head, "No deal. Now _you're _screwing _me_."

Squall's eyebrows raised and he retorted quickly, "Yeah, well that divorce is going to be eating a hole in your pocket." The salesperson looked confused so Squall explained painstakingly, "There's lipstick on your fly … your zipper … yeah, there." The man cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Yeah … better not let your wife see that. So does my screwing you seem more inviting now?" The checkered one nodded curtly.

Squall paid in cash, signed the registration papers and slapped down another thousand dollars in cash to the dealer. He wrote down the address of the rental place, "It's already been paid for. So, just drop it off and say it's from Mr. Leonhart. It was nice doing business with you." Squall held out his hand to shake. The dealer reluctantly reached across the paper-littered desk and shook it firmly.

Squall picked up the keys to his new wheels and smirked. He was out the door at the count of ten and speeding down the street.

WHILE SQUALL WAS having his little joy ride, Rinoa was only just waking up. A painful process for her to go through. First, she stretched and turned over. It was only on mornings where there were no interruptions that this long method was efficiently completed. She then groaned in utter repulsion at the fact that she was now awake and that there was no turning back. It was then time to open her eyes, just a slit so they could get used to the rays that managed to peak through her blinds. When she felt ready she opened them fully and engaged a staring contest with her alarm clock. This lasted about five minutes.

"Come on … blink me the wrong time … just for a split second. Just to fool me." She muttered to it in a tone of conspiracy, "Tell me it's only three a.m. and that I can go back to bed. Please?" The clock refused to yield her the results she yearned for. She cursed under her breath. 

When she finally came to accept the fact that it was ten to nine and that she could not do anything about it, she stretched off her bed and sat on the edge, rubbing her eyes, scratching her head, yawning, mumbling and kicking around her slippers.

When she finally slipped into them, she walked groggily towards the bathroom. Naturally, she miscalculated the width of the doorway and slammed into the frame, "Mornings fucking suck." She declared in an incoherent mutter, and managed to enter the bathroom, close and lock the door without further injuring herself.

She managed to shed her clothing, even if she was semi-asleep, and turn on the shower. The warm water seemed to make her dizzy and she was afraid of passing out so, with all the willpower she possessed, she turned the cold tap on all the way. "Holy shit!" She screamed out when her commands took effect and she found herself twisting it down again.

When her shower was taken she dried her hair (the heat of the hairdryer nearly making her fall into a deep coma once again) and dressed insanely slowly. After her undergarments, she pulled on her jeans slowly. The times she had nearly fallen asleep while dressing that morning were uncountable.

It took her twenty minutes to find a shirt she wanted to wear and it was mostly due to the fact that she was staring at her open drawer blankly. It took her some good time to finally close the door entirely and search her closet for a baby blue blouse that took at least five minutes to button up entirely. She forgot she needed socks and stumbled out to the kitchen, this time tripping over a stair. Luckily she managed to catch herself before her jaw hit the ceramic tiles, though her knee ended up bruised. 

When she attempted to make coffee, the pot broke and she cut her fingers. Now in an uncontrollable fit of swears, she slammed the remainder of the pot in the sink sending it exploding in shambles of glass that flew in all directions. She let water run over her cuts for a while and then wrapped her wounded hand in a dishcloth. The last remaining, functional phone in her house rang and she picked it up in the kitchen, "What? Who the fuck is this and what the fuck do you want?"

SQUALL DID NOT know his way around the city very well however, luck smiled upon him this morning as he easily found, with the help of a pedestrian, a real estate agent. He strode into the man's office. "I'm here to see Mr. Maxwell." A gentleman clad in cowboy boots and two gallon hat stepped up.

"That would be me, son. How can I help you on this fine day?" Maxwell held out a business handshake, which Squall took up firmly. 

"I'm looking for a comfortable apartment. Preferably in the heart of the city where I can have easy access to everything, I want there to be one bedroom, one bathroom, one kitchen, one big living room and a smaller room for an office or something. Also, a garage … a private one. Actually, make that three garages, I might add a few cars to my collection. My prices range from $120,000 to $300,000." Squall took a seat in front of Maxwell's desk.

The real estate agent whistled, "Deling may be a city of prestige but you can get yourself a pretty big apartment with those price ranges. Sure you don't want to go a little lower? Those monthly payments could eat away your pockets and your pants with it."

"No worries, I just bought a $100,000 car and I paid in cash. Mr. Maxwell, I'm willing to double your commission if you find me a decent apartment meeting all the requirements before today at noon. I need to do an odd job for an acquaintance and then I'll be back here, where you'll be with my dream domain. Ok?"

"I can't work miracles, my boy … but I sure as Hell can find you a real nice place. I'm on your case." Maxwell shook Squall's hand once more and accompanied him to the door of his bureau, "Ciao, son."

"I'll see you soon." Squall promised and then informed Maxwell of his last requests, "Oh, and I prefer to be on a higher floor. Also, fully furnished. And the present resident had to be ready to move out _today_. I'm not staying homeless." He finished on a warning note, "Got that, Maxwell?"

"Your demands have been taking note of." Maxwell reassured him, "But don't you get any ideas that all your requests will be met on the bull's eye. Real estate isn't Barbie and Ken." Maxwell leaned on the wooden frame of his office.

"Neither is life. But a client's expectations should always be met if you want him to come again." Squall replied and walked towards his vehicle. Maxwell watched him get into his BMW and drive away.

"Damn fresh ass. Good kid though … any kid's good when he offers you double the commission, I can tell." Maxwell muttered some more to himself and returned inside his office to begin his search for his demanding client.

SQUALL WAS JUST beginning to throw his money around while Rinoa was listening to Irvine's penny-pinching lecture over the phone. He had been the caller at the wrong time. She clenched her jaw and stayed rooted on the spot, a minor setback that she suffered from having thrown the portable to the wall, "Now, as long as we have Seifer on our side, we should be ok for the cash situation but don't forget that we're protecting Dincht, we have to hire more men."

Rinoa rolled her eyes and was attempting to mop away her mess. Her temper was beginning to flare but she did her best to shut her mouth and listen to him ramble on, "That means buying more weapons. So I was thinking doing a little bribery around town. Or you know? Screw bribery. Let's go with the threats. We can watch the prices tumble off those rocket launchers and shotguns! Anyways, and that means no more shopping sprees for you."

"So that immediately insinuates no more whores for you! Or drugs or alcohol or strip joint V.I.P. memberships!" It was the final straw. He really hadn't picked the right morning to mess around with her, "Had fun at last night's party, eh Irvine? I'm glad your head isn't splitting in two from the hangovers but you've probably had so many fucking painkillers that you're not even sure where you are anymore!" 

There was a short silence on the phone and Irvine cleared his throat to begin again, "Well, maybe cutting down on the shopping sprees is a little much. I mean, we each need to have our own little entertainment once in a while. I mean, life isn't all work, right? Rinoa? Right?"

She rolled her eyes on the other end, wishing he could see just how annoyed she was, "No, of course not." She drawled sarcastically, picking up a few shards of glass off of the ceramic kitchen floor, "Though I don't see how _your _life is _any _work."

"Hey, hey, I do work too!" Irvine defended himself, "Maybe I have more of a sex life than you do and henceforth, I'm not a crazy workaholic but that doesn't mean I do my share of the deal, Rinoa! I respectively do my part and I spend my pay the way I want to, it's none of your business. Both of us get a fair cut-"

"Alright, shut up!" Rinoa snapped irritably and threw another glass shard in the sink where she was accumulating them, "God, how long can you go on for? Oh, and like I want to know!" There was another silence on the phone and Rinoa finally spoke up again, "I spoke to father yesterday evening. Well, I say evening … it was more around midnight. Right after you called, actually … but you probably don't remember calling me at all."

"Oh yeah, he called?" Irvine asked curiously and he didn't need to tell her that he wanted to know about how the conversation went. This scenario was too familiar to him. Random calls from Caraways weren't common but when they occurred, it was big news.

"Yeah, he was amiable to do such a thing. Shocking, I know. Check outside, has the world begun spinning clockwise on its axis?" She joked sardonically and continued on, "So, basically, don't step onto DeGracia territory anymore unless you want bullets to whiz at your head. Well, the old man's full of empty threats but I guess we've got too much to lose."

"DeGracia? He's formed an alliance with DeGracia? Aren't they competitors or something?" Irvine asked and Rinoa could picture him scratching his head in thought.

"Yes, you could say that." She covered-up quickly, "Well, either way … just tell our men to stay away. He didn't seem too happy. Well, like that's news but, you know … sometimes when he's just formulated a plot to screw us off or something he's got a bit of cheer in his voice and-"

"Did you ask about my mother?" Irvine interrupted her anxiously, "He didn't mention her or anything? You didn't … ask?"

Rinoa remained silent for a moment and she cleared her throat, "No, I didn't ask about her." She bit her lower lip nervously trying to be comprehensive but failing, "Is there a particular reason why I should be asking?"

"Could you stop thinking of yourself for just a moment here?" Irvine scowled angrily and Rinoa couldn't help but feel a little remorseful at her attitude. "So, I'm guessing you have no news of her whatsoever?"

"No, I don't." Rinoa admitted bluntly and gave her excuses, "One, I do not care. Two, I'm not your messenger. Three, I do not care. Four, it would have looked oddly suspicious that I inquired about my step-mother." She spoke the final words with utter repulsion, "And five, I really don't care!"

Irvine snapped back irritably, "I care! And you know I can't muster the nausea when I call _your_ father! So I usually have to get the news from you! I don't like your dad either, but if he died I'd be at his funeral at least pretending to cry!" 

"Now that's odd, I wouldn't even bother to show up at the funeral at all. And you're even ready to act your grief? Phew, you're a good guy, Irvine." Rinoa quipped scathingly and rolled her eyes, "Anyways, why don't you check up on your own goddamn mother? I don't ask you to visit mine in the cemetery every fucking month!" Suddenly, rage overcame her and she slammed the receiver back down onto the cradle of the phone.

It was a demon that Rinoa Heartilly had not yet overcome. She never had closure to her mother's untimely death. Still today, her passing loomed over her every move. Each shadow on the wall seemed to be her. Though Julia, Caraway's first wife, was beneath seven feet of cold dirt, she was still unburied to her daughter. Rage still bubbled in her veins when her mother's demise was mentioned. "It's not fair, it's just not fair!" Her fifteen-year-old-self in her nightmares proclaimed.

_A mother's death is the first tragedy one must face without her. Rinoa had not been able to deal with it well. Ever since the tender age of five, she had resented her father and taken comfort and safety within her mother's arms. Once the maternal figure was gone, there was no one to turn to. There was no safety, nor comfort anywhere. She was a lost little soul, grievously dancing in and out of the watchful eyes of the hired sitters. _

_Pure hatred had spawned from her when she had met her father's 'new girlfriend', Linda Kinneas. A divorced woman that wore floral perfume to a point of distaste and had bore one son to her previous husband. The boy's name was Irvine and he was roughly a year older than Rinoa was. As soon as her picky gaze had fallen upon the tall, slim young man she had taken it as her personal mission to make his life a living Hell._

_She had done everything to drive away Miss Linda and her son, to prevail the image of her mother in the household. To save her dignity as her father had simply thrown it away. Though in the end, it had been in vain as an engagement ring was bought, and not even with her consent, was given to Linda Kinneas. That night she had been enraged to a point of insanity. Her temper flaring, she had thrown breakables at the wall and tyrannously ripped curtains. In her fit she had even slammed her fist against Irvine's nose when he had attempted to comfort her._

_After she was worn out, feeling worse than before and now crying openly she had stopped and curled up in a desolate corner of her ransacked room. She had hugged her knees tightly to her chest and let the tears stream down her already moist cheeks. No one had come to comfort her. No one had come to tell her that things would get better. Simply because she had no one left._

_She had jerked herself from reality and refused anyone's help. Rinoa Heartilly suffered alone and wished no one to be near her for months. She ate her dinner in her room and only stepped out to go to school. Her private bathroom was linked to her bedroom and the room itself contained everything to relieve a young girl's boredom. As the years passed, she occasionally went out with friends but she left the house by her bedroom window. Never had she asked her father for permission to go anywhere._

_A certain night during her seventeenth year, she had clambered up her window after a night on the town in a state of intoxication. Various chemicals had been injected into her bloodstream and she had drunk an entire bottle of vodka to herself. As she heaved herself through the window, dizziness caught hold and she suddenly felt nauseous. Stumbling across her wooden floor she made her way to the bathroom and violently threw up in the toilet. _

_The bright light was rudely flicked on and she cringed as her eyes desperately tried adapting. A sneering voice spoke out quietly so not to wake the other habitants in the household, "Had a fun night?" She wished to reply, to muster the strength to hit him or at least to stand on her two feet to face him. "Oh, don't get up for me." She heard his footsteps leave the bathroom. _

_  
With the remaining strength and functional brain services, she managed to pull the flush and get up on two shaky legs to rinse her mouth and wash her face. The cold water seemed to help her attain a certain level of sobriety and calmed her erratic nerves. Irvine came back into the bathroom and placed a cup of coffee on the bathroom counter._

_"Listen, that's the last thing I need if I want to sleep tonight." She spoke quickly like a hyperactive child on Christmas morning, "It's called speed for a reason."_

_  
Irvine nodded sneeringly as he understood and dumped the coffee down the drain. She watched the hot liquid whirl down the sink and shook her head and blinked furiously. Her hands were shaking and she felt as if the energy was about to make her body erupt into flames. She had never felt so worse or guilty in her entire life. And now, a jury was before her about to declare a verdict. She suddenly became suspicious of Irvine. Would he dare snitch on her? _

_She watched her 'step-brother'; though she refused to refer him as that, strike a match and light a cigarette. It was when she realized that he was no cleaner than she. But her mind was working too fast, trying to formulate anxious conclusions. She rubbed her temples as she picked up warning signs of a migraine heading in her general direction. She was anything but calm at that present moment._

_"So … tell me, why speed?" Irvine took a puff of his cigarette and threw the match in the nearby garbage can, "Why not try and attain euphoria or a general feeling of well-being? See, you jam that shit up your nose or in your veins and you hop more than a fucking rabbit on steroids." _

_"The dealer had nothing else, ok?" Rinoa snapped back, increasing her grip on the edge of the counter to make her shaking less apparent. It wasn't working. Her knuckles were turning white and the tremors were still very visible to Irvine. She couldn't get her wild nerves under control. _

_  
Irvine shook his head and his look turned to one of sympathy, "Don't do that to yourself. You can seriously see that your body can't handle it." He took another long drag of his cancer stick; "You'll probably end up setting your neurons on fire."_

_"Don't fucking tell me what I should or shouldn't do!" She hissed, her tone of voice was quick as she couldn't control any other pace of speech, "Who the fuck asked you anyway? Go back to where ever the Hell you came from! Take your fucking mother with you." If humanely possible, her grip tightened in a rush of fury._

_"I would if I could." Irvine threw the butt of his cigarette in the toilet and turned to the door, "Good night." She did not watch him leave but she heard his footsteps creeping quietly out of her room and into the hallway. They faded away to where she didn't care. When she felt ready she flicked off the light and blessed the calming darkness. She managed undress, pull on a t-shirt and pajama pants and climb into bed but that was all she accomplished. Her eyes darted back and forth on the black ceiling as insomnia settle in. "Never again …" She swore to herself, "Never …" _

_She couldn't bear it anymore. Rinoa spent the entire night wide-awake, slowly driving herself insane, being tormented by the side effects of the drugs. Her heart beat so hard in her chest that she feared it would explode or that her veins could not stand this rapid pumping of blood and that they would collapse. Rinoa feared dying that night. She lay there until the amphetamines wore off. It was then that she was finally able to drift in an uneasy sleep, agonized by nightmares of being alone. She woke, to find that it was a reality._

_Life went on as usual. Irvine never told Caraway or his mother of the little midnight event that had occurred with his 'step-sister' and Rinoa was secretly grateful. The last thing she needed was to have her father on her back. As much as she was beginning to detest loneliness, his company was even less appreciated. Seasons passed. Rinoa and Irvine were forced into exile together, in the southern part of Galbadia, to Winhill for entire summer vacations. Both hated it there. There was nothing to do._

_   
  
Eventually, as they both became certified adults, Rinoa had completely kicked the drugs though Irvine meddled with them on occasion. The two stepsiblings formed a unique bond of trust that none ever spoke of with the other. It was a mutual, silent agreement and it was simply of no use getting emotional by discussing it. An understanding that would later prove to be profiting for the both of them, almost like a lucky investment._

**VERY IMPORTANT NOTE: If I don't get anymore reviews, it means there is a lack of interest. A lack of interest means I won't bother writing something that is judged to be uninteresting.**

**Random Question: If I were to write original fiction, not relating to FF8 and posted it on Fictionpress.Com … would any of you read it?**


	6. Connections

**Connections**

****

Squall's prized, new automobile pulled into the ugly district of the Diabolos at 9:53 a.m. sharp. He parked expertly in a shadowy corner where his beauty had less chance of being stolen or accidentally scratched. An expensive car had to be well cared for. He hadn't even discussed terms of insurance yet. He locked the doors, set up the anti-theft system and walked away, throwing cautious looks over his shoulder. He took one last look at his car before entering the Diabolos HQ and leaving the heavy metal warehouse door slamming behind him.

El Diabolos greeted Squall himself with open arms when the young employee entered the office, "Amigo! I was beginning to think you wouldn't show! Have a seat." He gestured towards a chair in front of his messy desk. A lit cigar was dangling from an ashtray and was distributing an overall rank smell in the room, "Come on, sit! You want a smoke?"

The smell of one cigar was already making him nauseous so he had to turn down the offer, "No thanks. I … don't usually smoke." He wouldn't deny that he had never touched cigarettes (or even drugs) but that was long ago. In his screwed up teenage-hood. He shook away the memories. They weren't worth remembering, "Let's get this done quickly. Sorry, I've got other business to take care of at noon, on my own personal account."

"Sure, sure." The big honcho took the cigar between his forefinger and thumb, shook off the burning ashes and brought it to his lips to take a big drag. He deposited it back into the ashtray and cleared his throat, "Ok then. Now, Ms. Quistis Trepe is waiting in the business sector of this godforsaken town. Pick her up and bring her back here in twenty-minutes. Don't get delayed; this is an important deal for the Diabolos. Now … you can't use the rust buckets that we've got here. That would be completely scandalous. Quistis is a fine chica of high-class bitches. So, we've gotta use something more … _chic_."

"Like a BMW 6th series, model 645Ci?" Squall asked cockily smirking, his arms folded against his chest.

"Are you fucking out of your mind?" El Diabolos roared, "We don't have that kind of money! You think I just won the lottery, you loco sonofabitch?" The head of the gang slammed his angry fist on the table. The idea of the young one was completely preposterous. Why would they be in the worst district of town and own one of the most prestigious cars ever confected?

"You don't. I do." Squall eased the tyrannous man back into his chair, "I've took brief connections with my old friend yesterday evening. She's paid her outstanding debt and I just bought myself a new car. No need to get all hyped up."

El Diabolos rubbed his temples in great annoyance, "Don't do that to me, amigo. I nearly had a heart attack. And don't mention your friend around these parts anymore. We're through with The Syndicate. Anyways … go pick up Miss Trepe at the corner of Trent and McKenzie. Don't keep her waiting for too long."

Squall exited the warehouse thinking, "Not friends of Rinoa Heartilly anymore? That's interesting. Not friends … so enemies? And if they're plotting with Trepe, chances are she's not too fond of Rinoa either. Looks like Rin might be in a tight spot soon …" He unlocked the doors, disarmed the alarm and got into the driver's seat.

Squall raced across the dingy part of town into the heart of the city. He slowed down where police activity was visible, like any good citizen. It was no time before he reached the corner of Trent Avenue and McKenzie Street. A striking blond wearing a tight, short, dark skirt and a white blouse that complimented her already attractive curves sat, cross-legged, on a bench. As soon as she saw the BMW's passenger window roll down she leisurely got up and strode to the car, "Diabolos?" She asked.

"Bingo." Squall answered, peering curiously in her green eyes that stood behind her frameless, oval glasses. She opened the passenger door and got in right beside Squall. He was semi-surprised at her forwardness and no longer felt like the driver. More like the associate. It made him slightly uncomfortable but did a good job at remaining poker-faced.

"You're Squall Leonhart, correct?" She had hidden her statement in a question and he knew that. Trepe had done her homework. She was a woman not to be reckoned with. She had a certain 'Rinoa Heartilly' air about and he guessed that was why they hated each other so. Both fighting pitbulls for the piece of meat. It was a probable theory. Quistis was someone of self-confidence, of prestige and of gut.

"That would be correct. I see you've taken the time to get in-depth information." Squall complimented while watching the road that was cluttered with bad Sunday drivers. He made it a priority to swerve around them as quickly as possible.

He missed Quistis' wry smile trying to hide her surprise at the scar that ran diagonally from his nose to near his left eye, 'Holy … it mirrors Seifer's …' She thought distractedly but managed to reply to his comments, "Yes. Well, do you mind if I apply make-up as you're driving?" She took out a small make-up bag from her purse as though she already knew he wouldn't object. 

However he did, "Yes, actually. This is a brand new car and I've had bad experiences with female passengers putting on mascara while I was driving. So, please refrain from doing so." Quistis obediently put the bag back in her purse, slightly shocked at his refusal.

_It had been a rushed morning. After the essentials, they had ran to the car parking lot and began a hasty drive to a quiet breakfast place to meet with someone important … a potential ally. However, they were late. Very late and it was mostly Rinoa's fault. She had been so hard to wake up this particular morning. _

_The road was littered with the odd pothole, not in a very decent condition, "Ok, I just have to put on my make-up!" Rinoa declared, fumbling in her purse for her cosmetic bag._

_Squall rolled his eyes, "You don't need to, you look fine." _

_"Lies." Rinoa snapped back but quickly softened up, "But it's a sweet lie. Still a lie! Slow down, if you go any faster we might go back in time. And if there's a cop we're just as good dead." She reminded him but he ignored her. She flipped open the mirror of the car and took out her tube of mascara. She began applying it expertly and was just about done when Squall hit the biggest hole in the street. She let out a wail of pain as the eyelash candy burned at her cornea. _

_"What, what? What is it?" Squall asked in a frenzy of panic and he pulled over to the side of the road, "Are you ok? What happened?"_

_"The … mascara … in my eye … IT BURNS!" She shrieked in utter pain, "And it's all your goddamn fault, Leonhart!" She hissed and covered her wounded eye. _

_Squall looked absolutely dumbfounded, "That's it? Precious time is slowly trickling by while I'm listening to you complain about a mix of chemical on a stick that prodded at your eyeball for a split second?" His voice and anger rose in a violent crescendo, "REMIND ME AGAIN OF HOW THIS IS MY FAULT?!"_

_"Well, you could try slowing the fuck down when I tell you to, you big ignoramus!!" Rinoa yelled back, "And as I recall you were the dumbass who scheduled the fucking meeting so early in the morning!" She let off a whimper of pain, "Oh, I'm going to cry …"_

_Squall looked at her incredulously but then snapped out of it and rolled his eyes for numerous times that day, "Cry. It'll wash the shit off your precious eye." In response she hit him in the arm. They weren't always like this. It happened on occasion when there was a disagreement or when things were going completely wrong. Needless to say, they were arrived very late at their meeting._

Squall was suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of nostalgia. Did he miss her? Or did he just miss being a criminal in progress? The feeling of building up to something big? Maybe it was just … her. He shook his head, attempting to rid himself of her haunting image in his head. No, it couldn't be _her_. He had vowed to despise her, to seek out revenge. Falling in love with her again was not in the set of options.

Miss Trepe sat at his side, remarking how clear the weather seemed to be, "It's going to be another beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. Do you usually chauffer people around like this on such wonderful days?" She glanced his way, smiling.

"Well, taxi drivers do it. I do it. It's called a job." Squall answered smartly, "I'm a Jack of all trades and driving is one of them."

Quistis kept smiling and nodded slightly, "Right, of course. I suppose the right question would be … 'Do you enjoy driving people around on such wonderful days?'" She tried to catch his eyes but they wouldn't leave the road before him.

"No, I don't particularly like this work but I promised El Diabolos that I would do it and I don't go back on my word …" He trailed off aimlessly, "Anyways, it doesn't matter whether I like it or not, I still have to do it. Don't I? And why are you asking so many questions? You look like someone who is above discussing such issues with a measly civilian."

She laughed and waved away his comments, "Well, looks can deceive. Don't judge a book by its cover, Squall …" She smiled, still trying to read him by making eye connection. "And either way, you aren't just a measly civilian. You've got a badge of talent on you, Squall. With that badge … you can do anything …" She left her proposition hanging from her lips, hoping to pique his curiosity.

"I haven't a single badge, Miss Trepe." Squall stated boldly. He had gone down this road before except with a different person. _"You've got a pillar of potential. If you develop that potential, we could make it a temple."_ That's what _she _had once told him. He had believed her, trusted her on that notice. A pillar of potential was more honest, more believable than a badge of talent. Squall knew she was trying to sooth him with her fluffy words, "What I have is something called potential." He replied coldly.

"Call it what you like." Quistis gave up on luring him to her, "It's something that could get you a new job. I've got some plans that include you, Squall … now the question remains, do you want to be part of them?" She made the offer sound seductively enticing. Squall had to remind himself not to jump onto the ship without checking for holes.

"That would entirely depend." He replied and pulled in near the Diabolos warehouse, "I have my prices … and terms. You're here …" He motioned to the building but she made no move to get out of the car.

"We'll discuss that later. Here's my card." She handed him a small business card and he tucked it in the breast pocket of his jean jacket without even glancing at it, "Call me. And don't worry. I've got plenty of money. Bye-bye pretty boy." She got out of the car and shut the door. He watched her making her way to the building. Bye-bye pretty boy. The words made unwanted memories surface. Betrayal runs too deep to be forgotten.__

_They had planned it out down to their every step. They had put together an extraordinary team of talented gunmen, three safecrackers and an asphalt-eating driver that could outrun a cop in a Toyota Firefly with flat tires and a low supply of gas. The plan was foolproof. Infallible. Perfect. Flawless. It was a downright art and they were proud of it. The only thing that Squall Leonhart ignored was that Rinoa had made a plan of her own._

_They were hitting the Gamaway Bank. An Estharian owned bank that had over 10.5 millions dollar in a single vault. There would be an equal share among the teammates so no outbreak of greed would ensue. It left them all with nearly a million dollars in their pockets. Two million in the hands of Rinoa and Squall's growing empire since both would sacrifice their share._

_There was a small set of rules that had been distributed to all members of this bank-robbing organization. One: Do not harm any hostages unless they are an immediate threat to an associate of the team. Two: Do not panic under any circumstances and go into a shooting frenzy. (Rinoa had added that one in due to one of her personal experiences with a gun) Three: Everyone who falls behind gets left behind. It seemed heartless but after the alarm sounded, every police officer would be on their trail and one lost asshole was better than eleven lost assholes with 10.5 million dollars._

_Squall would go in with the five gunmen and three safecrackers. The bank had two floors; the first floor was obviously where there were the tellers in their booths and where the daily customers did their transactions. There would be a staircase behind the booths that led to the personalized staff of the bank where more important clients did large transactions from different accounts. There were also the offices where stock trading took place and the manager's office. Down the hall from the administrator's office, there would be an alcove with two or three steps that led to an adjacent, split second level. All that remained to do was to walk down the narrow hallway to a locked door, swipe the manager's cardkey, crack the safe, and bail._

_As soon as the safe would be forcefully opened, it would set off the alarm. It would be completely impossible to avoid this as only the head of the bank has the nine-digit code to properly disarm the safe and he was in Esthar probably enjoying a martini at his private pool. So for the sake of simplicity, the five gunmen would stall the reinforcements for two and half minutes. Long enough for Squall to exit by the bathroom window to give Rinoa the signal to begin the distraction. The three safe crackers would exit by a back door with the loot and meet with the driver who would discreetly wait. _

_After the distractions would be set off like fireworks, the police's attention would be diverted for a split second. The five gunmen would escape through the backdoor and enter the getaway van. They would pick up Squall and Rinoa (who would've met up) down in the ally. The van would use the back streets and disappear within the view of the officers. It would then gradually take back the high roads and look like another blank face of society, back to the 'hideout'._

_There were things that could go wrong but those events were controlled by luck, something that they did not have power over. The plan would work if human error and casualties were avoided and if their luck remained either neutral, or good. _

_"You don't look like you've gotten much sleep last night." Squall remarked as he watched the morning news, only hours before the master plan was to be put to the test. She had been looking this way for the past few days and he was beginning to worry. There was no approaching her when she was like this. She was distant, cold._

_"Yeah, well, I'm fine." She replied and his eyes wandered from the screen to her. She brushed a few locks out of her hair as her gaze fixated on the wall behind the television set, "We should be going … come on."_

_He bent down to kiss her but she stopped him, "No, don't." It was almost a plea and it had been the first time that she had pushed him away. He was slightly taken aback. 'Maybe she just doesn't feel well …' He thought uncomfortably. 'Am I losing her?' He was. _

_"What's the matter?" He asked, peering into her cloudy eyes. They didn't used to be this way. Her cocoa eyes used to be clear, simple, carefree. Now they looked as if they were bearing the weight of tons, "Don't worry, everything will go fine." He reassured her, assuming she was worried on how everything would go down, "We've been planning this for months, Rin. Nothing can go wrong. Everyone knows what to do … it's right."_

_"Yeah …" She said weakly, without the least bit of conviction in her voice, "It's right. We should really go … come on." She pulled herself off the couch_

_The plan could have really proved to be flawless. Every step was to perfection. The first phase was accomplished without resistance. They shot down all the security guards and held up all the people in the bank, keeping a keen eye on them to make sure that no one would do anything stupid. The bank manager was forced to separate himself from his precious keycard, which they immediately used to gain access to the room that the safe was placed in._

_Squall awaited the sound of the alarm in the bathroom. With three safe crackers, it should only be a matter of seconds. The five gunmen had the people under control and there was barely anything left to worry about. The alarm rang, he smashed his fist through a window, sending shambles of glass exploding outwardly. He climbed out and fell to his feet. His eyes darted to the roof of the building on his left but he saw no Rinoa. Instead she was twenty feet lower than she was supposed to be, a few feet away from him._

_"What the Hell are you doing there?" He gawked at her, "Rinoa … what the Hell?" Now was a good time to break the second rule that his girlfriend had put into the set. It was now a good time to panic and yell and shout and shoot at random objects._

_"I've got it covered." She answered in a way that wasn't her. There was something oddly different about the look in her eyes. A mixture of fear, determination … and pain._

_She raised a pistol, equipped with a silencer. His eyes went wide, "You've got to be kidding me." He gasped and took a few steps back. _

_"I'm sorry baby. I'm a girl with big ambitions … and you, you're just small time." The words scathed. It was like a switchblade digging into your forearm, letting the blood run and watching to see what would kill you first; the blood loss or the pain. She fired. Upon the impact of the bullet, the final blow his body fell backwards onto the cold floor. He thought he distinctly heard someone say, "I'm sorry."_

But the memory is so botched now. Why would she have apologized? For the sake of having a clean conscious? Who cares anyways? It's past pains now.

Squall reminisced bitterly at the wheel of his car, only to realize that he had been parked outside the warehouse for over fifteen minutes. He immediately shifted into reverse and backed out into the streets. El Diabolos had never asked him to escort Miss Trepe back and so he assumed that his services weren't needed anymore.

RINOA HEARTILLY SAT on her couch drinking her sorrows away with the little bit of liquor that she could find in her apartment. It was in the morning and she knew that she shouldn't even be touching the alcohol but the desire was stronger than her will. She had felt this way before … during her teenage years. The feeling of being so horribly alone. A bitter laugh escaped her throat. It was obviously meant to be. She would die this way, wouldn't she?

She had a longing to call Nick and to pretend he was Squall but she knew that wouldn't be ethical. Of course, why should she care? Because it wasn't just the point of ethics anymore. Because she knew that even despite how hard she pretended and used her imagination like any good little child, Nick would never be Squall. His hands weren't as rough, his muscles not as sculpted. He didn't have the clear blue eyes, the strong jaw line, the coarse sexy voice … Rinoa closed her eyes. "Oh God … is it possible to be this desperate?" She was on the verge of tears.

God seemed to answer his question, "Why yes, Rinoa … it is. Because he's the last man you've had sex with and when was that … a year and a half ago? Now, you only have to start collecting tropical fish and learning about their natural habitants to be considered a full-fledged loser. Congratulations." She groaned and actually contemplated getting herself a tank full of betas and watching them kill each other.

"It would be entertaining." She rationed with herself, "And completely ethical. It would let out inner violence if I cheered them on. I could make bets with myself. Ohh … I such a sad, sad thing. Someone end my misery …" She whimpered and took another swig of her Jack Daniels. It went down hard and painfully but she swallowed as though it was nothing, "I might as well take a vow of chastity. Well … kind of late but better than never, ain't that right?" Suddenly she was annoyed at herself, angry even, "This is ridiculous, get over him, Rinoa! It was why you betrayed him in the first place! To cut the ties and lose the risks … you didn't want to fall in love so you severed the relationship, you buried it … now forget it and move on."

But she knew she couldn't. It was too hard, "You have to! This is what you call being stupid … are you waiting for him to come along and offer you sex? No, pick another guy before you start to grow a beard or something!" She didn't make a move, "You need a man to fulfill your every desire!" The independent woman in her roared out, "That man is alive and walking around … his name is Squall Leonhart!" She smacked herself in the forehead, "No … damn, the thoughts always take a wrong turn!"

"Forget it." Familiar lyrics to an old song sounded in her head, "N'importe où dans le monde, chaque second je pense a lui. N'importe où dans le monde, je suis son ombre où qu'il soit."

AS RINOA WAS fighting an inner battle, Squall was just dropping into Mr. Maxwell's office to see how the research was going and to determine whether or not he would double the commission. As he strode in through the door, the cowboy jumped up and shook his hand warmly. Squall guessed that by his obvious joy that he had found a suitable residence, "So, how goes my projects?" Squall questioned.

"Boy, son, have I got the perfect place for you."

**NOTE!!: I would really appreciate it if people reviewed, I don't care if it's two words, just tell me what you feel about this story! Please! Each review I get pushes me to write more.**

**Note to Reviewer darkcloud: This story was inspired from GTA, so obviously it should sound a bit like it, though it is NOT a crossover.**

**Additional Disclaimer 1: I do not own the song 'Même Les Anges', it is sung by Audrey de Montigny that participated in Canadian Idol.**

**_Translation to lyrics of 'Même Les Anges': _**

_Anywhere in the world, every second I think of [him]._

_Anywhere in the world, I am [his] shadow. Wherever [he] may be._

**Sidenote: Why yes, I am French, what's it to you?**


	7. The Journalist

**The Journalist**

It was noon sharp when Rinoa finally decided not to completely waste her day. She got her sorry posterior off the couch and picked up her purse and jacket to finally leave her apartment. She got into her car and drove away in the general direction of The Syndicate headquarters. She knew that she wasn't in an ideal condition to be driving, as her complete sobriety wasn't present so she dropped by a coffee shop. The black coffee cleared her mind quickly and she was soon on her way again.

The young woman plodded her way into the office, sighing in despair at the probable amount of work that awaited her. "Hey, Rinoa, I'm sorry about this morning, ok? I just tend to get carried away at times-" Irvine rushed towards his step-sister as he saw her walk into the office. He had a great bubble of guilt swelled in his chest for he knew of the pain he had caused her.

"Shut up. Head-ache." Rinoa put a hand to her head and whisked him away. She averted his eyes and walked straight into her office.

Before she shut the wood-framed door, Irvine managed to call out, "That's not the place you want to go to be alone!" But Rinoa ignored what he meant and she didn't quite have the patience to ask. She slammed the door in a quick, furious gesture and turned towards her desk where someone was sitting comfortably in her office chair. Her blood seemed to begin flowing against their natural current as she reached a boiling point.

"Found you." The voice tingled with superiority and sadistic pleasure, "How does the entrepreneur of the most influential clubs feel on this fine morning … _late _morning?" The woman in the chair smirked. She had short, light-brown hair and dark, ebony eyes and today, her dress wear consisted of a short, faded jean skirt and a light green tank top.

Rinoa sighed in annoyance, "Ellone, I don't have the patience, nor the state of mind to deal with your vicious journalistic qualities today." She strode confidently to her desk and made jerked her thumb in the general direction of the door to signal the journalist out of the office, "Get out."

Ellone liberated the chair but took seating on one of the guest chairs in front of the desk, "So, how're you treating my little brother?" She noticed how the younger girl was trying to avoid eyes meeting.

"Well, I bailed him, if that's what you mean." Rinoa answered, fervently searching her drawers for the bottle of painkillers. She wrenched and slammed drawers shut, letting off steam of being interrogated in gestures, rather than in words.

"Well yeah, I know _that_." Ellone stated in an unimpressed fashion, "I wrote the article on it, in the Deling Post. Want me to read an excerpt?" She asked reaching for her purse.

"No!" Rinoa said quickly, "I gave him half a million bucks to go with it, are you happy now?" She snapped nastily at her and finally emerged with the bottle of aspirin.

"Very happy. Thank you very much." Ellone smiled sweetly and leaned in towards the desk, "But … you would have done it even if I hadn't asked you … am I wrong to assume?" Rinoa remained silent and she decided not to press the issue, "Anyways, I want to ask you a favor." Rinoa rolled her eyes as she opened the bottle, "I want you to talk to him-"

"NO!" Rinoa objected ferociously glaring at the older girl, "No, I will not speak to him! If you have a message for him you will go and give it to him yourself! I refuse to play Hermes, the fuckface with winged sandals, ok?" She popped a few pills in her mouth and swallowed without the need of water.

"Aw, but Rinoa, I really need you to tell him one, little thing." Ellone put on puppy dog eyes and frowned, "Pretty please? You know he won't speak to me. He holds grudges for such a long time …" She trailed off piteously.

Rinoa's heart sank as Ellone spoke the last few words. She had always known Squall's lack of trust for individuals wasn't something to be reckoned with but upon hearing the words from his sister's lips, the pain seemed to hurt even more. Not to mention that Squall was one of those 'betray me once, betray me twice' people. "Yeah, I know." She admitted hesitantly, as if regretting a move in her part. Her inner voice screamed at her, 'Why did you let him go? Because you were scared … scared of something so fucking harmless? Scared of …'

"So … will you do me this one, tiny little favor?" Ellone clapped her hands together and made a sad, pathetic face, trying to get pity points, "Please? Pretty please with cream, hot fudge, sprinkles and a cherry on top?"

"No." Rinoa answered curtly, looking past her pitiful pleas and heartbreaking expressions. Today, she was feeling merciless, "No, I will not because just like you said … he holds grudges for a while. So what makes you think he'd want to see _me_?"

Ellone's frown reversed and her newly formed smile made Rinoa curious as though she knew something no else did, "Well, let's just say that you know my brother well. But _I _can read him like an open book. Better than a book. He's got his own code system that only I can decipher, his own symbols, it's … I … can't even begin to get into it."

"If you can read him so well … use it to your advantage and deliver your own goddamn message." Rinoa smirked in triumph and pointed to the door, "Now if you'll excuse me … I can't take further meetings without appointments. You can drop a note to my secretary on your way out and we'll squeeze you in the afternoon, perhaps."

"No way. You aren't getting rid of me that easily." Ellone retorted smartly, "Hell no. You can't shake me off like that and it surprises me that you even made that feeble attempt. I am as annoying as they come, Rin, and I'm sorry but I'm not leaving this office until I've said everything that I've had to say."

Rinoa's smirk grew wider, "Yeah, well, I'll have you know that I'm also quite annoying myself. You won't win that easily and you can babble on here for ages if it pleases you so because facts still come to facts: I won't be listening."

"Perhaps so, my cunning little friend, but I'm not the one with the head-ache." Ellone laughed haughtily as Rinoa's face fell, "Come on, you just popped two aspirins in your mouth in front of me. It screams out 'Weakness!' No, no, Miss Heartilly. You aren't going to make me jump threw hoops today. You're going to listen to me and if you fail to do so, I will only be here tomorrow and the day after until you meet my requests."

"You are the essence of Lucifer." Rinoa hissed through clenched teeth and Ellone only smiled sweetly, "You are the peak, the apex, the culmination of infuriating, you are the incessant epidemic that makes people strangle themselves every year! You are worst then Trepe!" She began to drum her fingers on her desk in the climax of annoyance as if pleading Ellone to state her case and get it over with quickly.

"Aw, you know I love you, Rin." Ellone smiled sheepishly and then after consideration, added in a joking fashion, "Dearly, not queerly."

Rinoa rolled her eyes, "Yes, I could have guessed as much." She leaned back in her chair and let out a sigh of exhaustion, "I don't have all day, Ellone. We don't all have kosher jobs like you do. So out with it. Tell me all you need to tell me."Ellone clicked her tongue, "Kosher job? I bust my ass to write an article about something so ambiguous and murky that half the time I end up making stuff up and that doesn't settle too well with the boss. And when I finally have my real lead, I'm not using 'big words' and all the other reporters are sucking the life out of _my _topic so when _my _article gets out it's barely even news anymore. Being a journalist sucks. You, on the other hand, have _carte blanche_ as your check every week and all you have to do is bend the rules."

"And if the police just happens to hear word that my entrepreneurship is just one big hoax and front for the most illegal activities in Deling then I might as well just lie down in the middle of the transit highway." Rinoa replied in a snappish manner, "Check the balance again, Ellone. I think it's more oblique than you think it is … oblique on the opposite side."

"You chose it that way." The helpless reporter replied, "Look, if I can get one good potato lead that'll leave the readers wanting more then maybe I have a hope in this career but being a crime reporter is just dull. Everyone beats you to the fresh meat … what I need is to get to it before they do. You can help me do that."

"No, I will not murder someone just for the Hell of it on a specific day, in a specific region for you to be waiting there, anticipating the blood to spill just so you have a headline." Rinoa's eyes narrowed into Ellone's shame-filled ones.

"I'm not asking you to do something so drastic. I'm just asking for a prediction." A smile slowly tugging at her lips, "Like … any gang wars on the horizon?" Her eyes hinted at something.

Rinoa stared back at her defiantly, "I don't know, call 1-800-MISSCLEO for your free tarot reading." Ellone's face fell at her friend's joke. Rinoa seemed completely unaffected at the journalist's disappointment.

"I don't want to make threats but being a crime reporter immediately means that I have my connections with the D.C.P.D." Ellone smirked and Rinoa's expression turned into a venomous glare, "So, Rinoa, have you changed your mind about my new headline?"

"This is completely ridiculous! I don't know if there's going to be an outbreak of blood on the streets! I don't think there will be and no I will not start one for the sake of your career." Rinoa threw her arms up in exasperation, "Maybe Trepe because she's really starting to irritate me, Diabolos isn't too friendly either! Look, I'm up to my goddamn ears in debts, I can't afford the time, the men and the weapons that gang wars bring! So no, I'm not looking to start any fights in the district." She finished on an angry note and proceeded to the grand finale of sarcasm, "Any other things you'd like to know? The weather for the next month? A biblical plague on the way? The winning lottery numbers? Oh, anything, Ellone, anything!"

"Woo, someone's cranky." Ellone shook her finger warningly, "That'll give you wrinkles at an early age, honey! Careful with that lioness temper of yours!" She smiled and crossed her arms, "But in any case, thank you. However, I find it difficult to find truth in your words. I've got some news for you." Ellone whipped out a notepad, "See, this was supposed to be _my _lead but once again someone beat me to publishing a rather bland article. A new street gang … the regular crap; drugs, girls, all the little things that gets young members hooked. Apparently, they want to join the gangdom of the corporal world and they aren't keeping it a secret. Ever heard of Black Dragon?"

Rinoa waved her hand around a bit, "Mildly." She seemed to be in deep thought for a moment, she nodded vaguely, "Some … Viktor Lynch? The guy was a freak. He was obsessed with vampires and other creatures of the night. A real weirdo. Before the whole Black Dragon gig he seemed to have affinities with Squall." She gave her eyes a quick roll to the skies and continued remembering, "Didn't want to affiliate himself with _me_, 'The Devil's Woman'. Fucking sexist ass …" She trailed off, "What about him?"

Ellone had a fixed, serious gaze on Rinoa that suddenly exploded in hysterical laughter, "He referred to you as … The … The … 'The Devil's Woman'?!" She pointed in laughter while Rinoa just stared at her, not the least bit amused, "Oh, _God,_ what did you try to do?"

Rinoa clicked her tongue in annoyance, "Nothing. I did nothing, he just didn't like me, ok?" Ellone continued laughing but trying desperately to hide it by covering her face with the notepad, "The alliance was short and Squall dealt the cards since I was obviously too satanic for him … and yet he's obsessed with vampires, what a freak!" Rinoa finished off bitterly.

Ellone, who had stabled her hysterical condition, spoke again, "Right, yes … well, they're proving to be quite scandalous these days. Everything to get noticed, you know? You should … invest in their friendship." She smiled wryly, "Wait, before you make your comments at my absurdity, I would like to state my reasoning. Firstly, they're cheap labor. Secondly, they've got strict policies. If you aren't with them, you're against them. Trepe will waste no time in learning and using this rule of theirs to her advantage so you best be quick. She's already aligned with Diabolos and soon, you'll have to hightail out of here because of your enemies. It's not so much that they're stronger, it's that they're together. Thirdly, only two words: Squall Leonhart."

Rinoa raised an inquisitive, esthetically plucked eyebrow, "Care to explain the third?"

"Of course." Ellone agreed pleasantly, "By the way you're snapping at me, Rin, it looks like you could use some action in that lonely bedroom of yours. And can it be anymore obvious that you are not over my brother?" Rinoa's jaw dropped in shock and in personal offence, "Don't give me that look. Not to mention that it coincides perfectly with the 'he's not over you' part."

"Oh, emotionless Squall Leonhart isn't over me?" Rinoa asked snappishly, "Ellone, I have no clue what you're trying to set up or for what purpose but it's starting to seriously irritate me so cut the threads. I know I have. Squall and I have come to terms with our relationship. Ending terms. He's on his own, I'm on my own and I promise you that if this is ever to change, you will be the first to know."

"Lies!" Ellone exclaimed happily, "If you take contact with this growing gang, and you will, you'll need the help of Squall because you're labeled 'Lucifer's Material'. Since he's already on the hunt for you, it should be easy. So, not only will you have contact in forbidden DeGracia turf … yes, did I forget to mention where Black Dragon was located? Smack dab where you're not allowed. So you'll be defying your father without his knowing and you'll have your favorite little lust puppet back. You win. I win."

Rinoa shook her head dismissing all thoughts, "No. How do you win?"Ellone clapped her hands excitedly, "Well, with Squall in there to keep you busy at night, you'll be more sociable in the day and more willing to help me with my big potato lead so I win-"

"ELLONE!" Rinoa screamed out in utter rage, "Why do you link my bad moods to lack of sex? Did it not cross your mind that it might be PMS? And how dare you use me like that! Squall and I are able to handle our relationship without your help and right now, we're at dead zero! Mind your own goddamn business! This is _so_ juvenile!"

"PMS is never that bad." Ellone shook her head, "No, it's … just impossible. Your bitchy attitude has reached a phenomenal height." Rinoa glowered at her darkly but Ellone ignored her, "I mean … it's … just … wow, I've never seen someone so cranky. Not even a four-year-old child at bedtime. And how am I sure that Squall is on the prowl for you? A certain Hispanic whore spoke, with the wave of a twenty dollar bill, of a certain murmuring of 'Rinoa' in bed."

The younger girl looked at her incredulously, "How do you do this? What is wrong with you?" Rinoa closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, "Whatever. You're full of bullshit that I don't have time for." Her anger came back to her, "I don't know where you get this information and frankly, I'm in an uncaring mood! You're being childish! I will not take contact with Squall Leonhart, it's _over_, got it? And you should do well to keep your nose out of things that don't concern you in the least!"

"Do you think it was pleasant for me to acquire that information? I had to go to the other side of town, which is probably the _ugliest _side of town to interview some good for nothing whore and _pay _her in some dingy coffee shop for her to admit that my _brother _still thinks of _you_ when he's screwing. Hello? My _brother_." Ellone gave Rinoa a look, "I mean, I didn't need to know! I was looking at the skank and all I could think of was 'Hey, she screwed my brother!' It was a highly horrid experience."

"Hey, I screwed your brother!" Rinoa declared, raising her hand in mock sarcasm and Ellone immediately clamped her hands to her ears, "Ooh, this screams out 'Weakness!'. Hey, HEY ELLONE! I SCREWED YOUR BROTHER … MULTIPLE TIMES. AND IT WAS GREAT!" Ellone shot her a venomous glare.

Rinoa's loud declarations were heard outside her bureau. The employees who were lounging near her office looked towards the door. Irvine's eyebrow shot up and he cleared his throat uncomfortably, "I'm not sure I want to know what's going in there … but … it … sounds … interesting …"

Back in the office, Ellone was getting very aggravated, "Shut up!" She screamed back, horror-struck, "I don't like thinking about these things!"

Rinoa snickered, "I screwed your brother, I screwed your brother." She continued chanting joyfully, "Hey, we could even reverse the process … he screwed me, I screwed him … on that very chair you sit on too."

Ellone jumped out of the chair, her hands still clamped over her ears, "YOU LIE!" She roared venomously and glared at Rinoa in such a disgusted way that the younger girl had to smirk, "YOU LIE!!" She accused sourly.

"Yes, I lie." Rinoa admitted laughing, "But since you kindly stepped out from the chair, you might as well exit my office as well." She smiled happily and Ellone only sat back down defiantly, removing her hands from her ears. "Listen, Ellone … I don't know where you get the nerves to do these things … but stop. You're becoming stalker-ish and it's beginning to scare me. I won't help you fix whatever you've broken with your brother."

Ellone sighed in despair and slowly got up from the chair, gathering her things, "Ok, fine then … I'll talk to you later." She headed towards the door, "But … when you _do _see my brother again, tell him I say 'hi'." She smirked and bounced out of the room happily with only Rinoa glaring at her closed door.

She leaned back in her chair and heaved a sigh of accomplishment, allowing her mind to begin to think. Coincidentally, the first thought that popped into her head was the following, 'Wait … did she say he calls my name in bed?' She blushed eight different shades of red, terribly angry with herself for being interested. Though terribly pleased at this flattering information.

ELLONE PRANCED DOWN the hall happily, she gave Irvine a defiant smirk as she made her way to the elevator. Irvine's gazed followed her dancing figure and he called out to her, "Hey Ellone!" The joyful girl spun around and looked at him. He pointed to Rinoa's office, "She screwed your brother."

Ellone's face fell but soon recovered its pompous façade, "Yes, I know. And I've come to understanding terms with it." She stuck out her tongue, "After all, I've dated _her _'brother'." She snickered wickedly, "And it sucked." Irvine snorted and waved away her comment, "But, don't feel degraded, Irvy … I'm sure there are many cheap whores out there that'll love you."Irvine glowered at her, "Yeah, you're just not one of them."Ellone laughed gleefully, taking the comment lightly, "Ooh, that stung! But I suppose I should take it as a compliment. Who'd want to be part of that group?" She summoned the elevator and disappeared from the hall, waving a mocking good-bye to her ex-lover.

The journalist descended the building and stepped out into the garage. She walked over to her Honda Acura RSX and unlocked the doors. She climbed into her vehicle, ignited the engine and was off. "Now …" She thought aloud to herself, "Where would a Squally with a fistful of money go to? Ah … to find a pleasant little nest, of course. And who would he have the most chances of picking as he's real estate? Hm … this one's tougher … Cassidy? Kenneth? … Maxwell! I think I just hit home … and Hell, it's all trial and error anyways …"

The car sped in Maxwell Real Estate's general direction.

THE OWNER OF the lovely downtown apartment showed them around excitedly. There hadn't been a tenant in this penthouse in years because of the price so he was determined to finalize this deal soon. "You have a lovely view of the city …" He pointed out uselessly. Some people were into scenery. Squall Leonhart wasn't really one to care.

He examined the living quarters painstakingly, "What about the garages? I don't like parking my car anywhere …" Squall turned to his future landlord, "It's essential that I have my private parking spaces and what not."

"No problem … there's a private garage for this part of the apartment … you've got a maximum of three parking spaces because … you know, I park there too." He was a stout little man with big, gray eyes that sparked hope. A man of mid-fifties since he had a growing bald spot atop his head and his remaining hair was dotted with white.

"Ok …" Squall nodded his head in approval, "How much is this place again? $220,000?" He looked towards Maxwell to signal that he had made his decision. The agent understood and nodded his head quickly, "How does $200,000 sound? It's a nice apartment and everything … just that … it doesn't meet all my requirements." He made up some false excuse to break the landlord's security, "I didn't want the laundry room so close to the kitchen."

"Oh … oh … well …" The balding little man fumbled nervously on the spot for a few moments, "Well … I … suppose …" He was obviously not an experienced business man, "I suppose that would be fine. $200,000 sounds peachy." He smiled cheerfully, "You … wish to move in at this very instant?"

"Yeah, well, I don't have much to move." Squall informed, taking one last look around and then looking back at the proprietor, "I'll be back in half an hour with a suitcase full of clothes so I doubt it should be a problem. Let's get those papers signed."

The landlord had come prepared and he pulled out a folder of papers, "Just read and sign all of them and it'll all be taken care of … but … yes, I need the money too." He added the last part unnecessarily but almost as a measure of safety. "I trust you will pay your monthly bills and such … right?"

"Yeah, don't worry." Squall took the papers and the offered pen and began signing away, not bothering to read the guidelines, as he knew that this man was not of enough wit to try and screw him. "I assume pets are allowed?"

The owner smiled and nodded, "Why, of course … as long as they aren't disruptive to the other tenants then everything should be peachy!" His cheerful voice piped up. The man was glad to have finally rented the place out.

"Great." Squall finished signing the last papers and reached for his thick wallet. He pulled out over a hundred thousand dollar and handed it over to the proprietor who took it, in awe. "It's all I have on me for the moment. I'll give you the remaining hundred thousand as soon as I come back with my bags … alright?" The balding man only nodded in shock at the amount of liquid money in his hands. "Great." He headed towards the door of the apartment and then seemed to remember something, "What apartment do you reside in? I'll ring you when I come back so you can give me the keys."

The older man recovered from his amazement at the money, "Oh … yes, the floor just beneath you … apartment number 107." Squall nodded and headed out. Maxwell followed closely behind.

ELLONE ARRIVED AT Maxwell's famous office sooner than she'd expected. Traffic was light and she had zoomed through the city effortlessly. Content at her timing, she parked her car and cut the engine. She got out, locked the door and strutted in the real estate's office, "Maxwell in?" She asked the secretary who was sitting behind the reception counter.

"No … he's out with a client. Care to wait?" The receptionist answered sourly and motioned to the chairs. She glared at the younger girl as if declaring a stare-down that the journalist wittingly missed as a form of mockery.

Ellone clicked her tongue in annoyance but took up on the offer. She plopped herself in a chair and waited, a list of questions expanding in her head. "Little Squally's gonna get a visit soon …" She smirked to herself, a finger to her lips.

**Note!: Again, please review, I really need the input. Like I said before, it doesn't matter how LONG your review is, I just want to know what you think of how the story's going and stuff. It could just be, "It sucks." Or "I like."**

**Additional Disclaimer #1: I do not own the big bonanza hoax that is Miss Cleo. Sorry, I'm a bit biased on the idea.**

**By The Way: If you guys want to 'chat' or whatever, on AOL Instant Messenger I am 'TheGreatSabam' and add 'oxidiziedidhotmail.com' if you wish to speak with me through MSN.**


	8. Fray Of The Lion Hearted

**Fray Of The Lion Hearted**

****

After receiving his pay from 'the good kid', Maxwell did not delay to head over to his office where his bustling secretary was most likely waiting with tons of messages. He was a renowned real-estate, most likely to go to hell for his pride. Some considered him self-centered but it was only arrogance. He was a self-important bastard and he acknowledged that with a grain of salt.

So, being the conceited asshole he was known to be, it displeased him to see the good-natured Ellone, upon his arrival, was awaiting his council without the slightest trace of an appointment, "Good day, Mr. Maxwell … I was wondering if you could grace me with your knowledge of the recent buys and sells of the residential market? Of course, I won't take 'no' as an answer …" Ellone smiled and strode into his private bureau.

He emitted an annoyed growl from the back of his throat, "You never take 'no' as an answer." He replied and shut the door so the conversation could be private, "What is it now, Miss Ellone? What … false hooded story are you going to type up about my agency this time? That we charge too high a commission and our deals are of mediocre quality?" Though he tried making his vocabulary graceful, his harsh, southern accent did not leave him.

"Why no, no …" Ellone looked shocked at his hypothesis, "Now, why would I do that to such a dear, old friend?" She faked a look of sympathy that instantly hardened, "Well, taking aside the fact that you sold my poor, dying mother a house that, five months later, had a caving roof, leaking pipes and sinking floors. Let's not mingle with the past, I think it'd be safer for you." She finished off quickly and proceeded to the real reason why she was here, "So, had any big buyers lately?"

Maxwell smiled as pleasantly as possible, "This is a prestige real estate agency, Miss Loire … we have nothing _other _than big buyers. Well, your mother was an exception and she should be grateful for what she did wind up with. This isn't charity, you know."   
  
Ellone scornfully snapped back, "Well, she can't exactly appreciate it, she's dead. Save your condolences, I'm not really sure I want your sympathy … that is, if you've got any to spare." Her eyes blazed as she continued on, elegantly stringing her words together, "No, I've come here for other reasons. If my instincts have led me on correctly, and they always do, you've recently had a customer with a fistful of money named Mr. Leonhart … Squall Leonhart. Do my senses deceive me?"

Maxwell leaned back in slight surprise. How had she known? He brushed off his curiosity as usual and managed to respond sophisticatedly, "I'm not in liberty to discuss the bargains with my previous or present clients. All my customers retain privacy on their buys and sells … it's a policy here, Miss Loire, to keep out pesky reporters from interfering with the lives of whomever affiliates themselves with us."

Ellone smiled victoriously, "So, he happened to drop by today, hmm? Excellent … now if you'll just jot down his new address for me and I'll be on my merry way." She tossed him a pad of paper from the corner of his polished rosewood desk.

His eyes shifted from the paper to her, "I don't know how you came upon the knowledge that Mr. Leonhart bought himself a domain however, under no circumstances, will I sell out his address to someone as nosey as you. If that's all, I'll gladly show you to the door …" He heaved himself form his chair and opened her pathway for an exit.

Ellone sat, unmoving in her seat, "You can close that, I'm not half-way done with you. I refuse to leave until you give me that address, Maxwell … and call the cops, by all means, go ahead … of course, then I'll have to let it slip that maybe this isn't such a nice, comely, innocent enterprise and there's actually a lot of fraud and robbery involved. So how about it? You wanna … _talk business?_"

IRVINE CAUTIOUSLY STRODE into his stepsister's messy office. Papers overflowed the desk with pens weighing them down as she had opened a window to let the cool breeze in. She was standing, a chair pushed aside, leaning over work using her arms as strong pillars of support. Occasionally, she would follow a given line with her index finger. Irvine cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Yes?" She asked absent-mindedly, drowning in the mass of contracts.

Irvine casually sauntered to a chair and plopped himself down, "I was just wondering how everything was going …" He trailed off without aim, "You know … well, how did you sleep last night?"

"With my eyes close." She responded nastily, "How the fuck else am I suppose to sleep?"

Irvine blinked in surprise but was quick to recovery. He was used to these moods by now. The poor stepbrother had dealt with them for eight years and counting. "Ah, good point. Forgive me." He remained silent until another icebreaker would come to him. His eyes watched her closely as she studied the papers. Finally, he spoke again, "What was Ellone doing here anyways, if I may ask?"

"She came to see me, is there a problem?" Her face rose from her desk and her eyes locked on his, "Ellone was here to discuss some matters with me, is all. Would you like a word-on-word review of the conversation or can you be satisfied with this blurb of information, like any good man who can mind his own goddamn business?"

"Woah, ok, sorry I asked." Irvine raised his hands in surrender, "I'll back off on your 'private matters' … I was just asking what she wanted. Anyways, I wanted to apologize again for earlier this morning, I was just a little bit emotional. I hope you won't hold it against me …" He left his sentence hanging, refusing to outline the question that was behind it.

"Of course not." Rinoa sighed and returned to her papers, "Meanwhile, if you can get me a cup of coffee, I'd appreciate it. Oh, and while you're at it … might as well get me Nicholas on the line. Tell him it's urgent."

SQUALL PICKED UP the clothes that Rinoa had bought for him, packed up what little possessions he had, and left the Diabolos HQ, once again thanking the big boss and assuring him that if he ever needed any services, he could always call upon him. The Diabolos wished him luck and he was overjoyed at the prospect of having his own little place to call home again.

On the way back to his apartment, he decided to drop by a mall. It had been a while since he had gone 'shopping' and he generally had bad memories about it. Shopping with Rinoa had never been an enthralling experience, strategically covered with questions like 'Do you think this would fit me?'. You always had to be careful with those questions. If you answered 'No', you were a dead man and if you answered 'Yes' you had to make damn well sure to look genuine _or else_.

Men and shopping simply did not mix, or so he thought. As much as he liked seeing Rinoa trying on different outfits, he feared the asking of his opinion and the hole it left in the bank account. He was used to removing the clothes, not picking them out for her. There was a gap of difference.

His trip to the shopping center was short and sweet. He dropped by a sports store and picked up a pair of running shoes, and then he proceeded to a dressy men's wear boutique. Rinoa had forgotten to include 'fancy clothes' in her gift. He picked out a white shirt, black dress pants and a clean-yet-casual jacket. No ties were necessary; he didn't know how to knot them properly. To complete his clothes selection, he bought a pair of black shoes.

Thinking that he had enough shopping to last him through six months (at least), Squall headed towards the exit but was stopped short when he saw, through a glass panel, tiny, newborn, furry little kittens, playing with yarn balls and being exposed symbolically to pleading children, "Mommy, please I want that one!" A short, curly blond haired girl tugged on her mother's purse.

Squall approached the glass and watched the cats pounce and tumble around. Some were sleeping, others were prowling around toys. He nearly caught himself thinking, "Aw, aren't they so adorable?" Fortunately, he stopped himself in time. His eyes fell upon a particular little kitten, raven in color with big, bright blue eyes that resembled large, glowing marbles. It was doing a great job of leaping onto the other kittens' backs. "Can I help you, sir?" The clerk standing next to him asked.

"Yes." Squall shocked himself with his answer, "I want that one." He pointed at the ebony kitten, "Just … pack up all that comes with it … I'll take him." After his declaration, he stopped himself to think, "Did … I just buy a fricken' cat?"

The clerk smiled and opened the expository cage. He reached for Squall's choice kitten and carried it over to the cash where he dropped it in a box. He closed the box, retrieved a bag of cat food, the odd toy, a litter pan and the special sand that went in the litter box. The cashier packed up the paraphernalia and announced the price for everything. Squall reached into his wallet and paid, sending the salesclerk into a great speech informing the new owner that this cat was fully treated, it had been neutered, and how much it should be fed a day. Squall half-listened, still wondering why he had decided to suddenly own a cat. A _cat_. Why not a dog, a parrot, a fish … a hamster?

Clutching the box and shopping bags, he numbly went back to his car. He threw the bags in the back seat and set the box in the passenger's seat. He drove silently back to his apartment, occasionally jumping at the incessant meows coming from the carton. After much pawing and pushing, the kitten was able to poke his head through the top of his card boarded cage. "What the hell are you doing?" Squall snapped at the cat.

The kitten let off a loud meow and Squall, still watching the road, hissed back at it, "What the hell was I thinking? Christ, what was so special about you anyways?" He let off a sigh. "Well, now I've got my own pain in the ass … just like old times." It then hit him like a pillowcase filled with bricks. Why had he so impulsively purchased this bundle of fur? A raven kitten, playfully pouncing on its brothers and sisters … purring, giving him cute looks. Rinoa.

He groaned in frustration and slammed his head down on the steering wheel when he came to a red light, "YOU!" He pointed to the cat, "ARE THE WORK OF THE DEVIL!" He felt a tiny kitten tongue lick the tip of his accusatory finger. "CHRIST, YOU ARE EXACTLY LIKE HER!" He then progressed to accusing himself, "Such a goddamn, fucking weak asshole! What is wrong with you? Why can't you forget her? _What the hell made her so fucking special?_"

He parked in his private garage and headed to the elevator that was located right in the parking lot. He pressed for the 20th floor, carrying all his possessions. Squall entered his new cozy home and threw everything everywhere. The bags of clothing were tossed in his room, the cat was let loose and he proceeded to settling his new roommate in. He filled one bowl with cat food, the other with cold water. He set up the litter box in the laundry room and then collapsed on the couch.

The kitten seemed to smile at him from atop the coffee table and Squall could only glare in return, "What the fuck are you looking at?" The kitten tilted his head to the side and meowed, "Now I suppose you want a fricken' name, eh?" Squall glowered darkly at the animal, "How does 'Peanut Butter' sound? Or 'Miffy' … 'Fluffy' …" His list continued on sarcastically, "Or … oh, I think we have a winner, how does 'FUCKER' sound? Or maybe 'TRAITOR' … or 'BITCH'." He stopped himself short.

The cat had done nothing wrong. Though it resembled Rinoa in its mannerisms, it was a kitten. A _kitten _that he had purchased at 'Purrfect Pets'. Why was he taking out his anger on a poor, innocent creature, "Sorry." He began to sound crazy, even to himself, "You know, lots of emotional strain lately. Are you a guy or a chick? 'Cause you know, there was this chick … maybe you know what I'm talking about, but you don't look old enough. Anyways … there was this … gorgeous, amazing, smart girl that I thought … I thought that maybe … maybe … she was in love with me. I'm … I'm sure was in love with her." He shook his head, "This is ridiculous … I'm talking to a cat- I'M TALKING TO A FUCKING CAT!" He exclaimed loudly and jumped from the couch.

There was a knock at the door and a terrible feeling struck him that he may have been overheard. He answered the call and saw someone he never wished to see again, "Oh, no … not you!" Squall snapped and slammed the door shut. Another knock was heard, "GO AWAY!" He yelled back but the knocking persisted, "ELLONE, I DON'T WANT TO FRICKIN' SEE YOU!"

Since he realized that she would obviously not walk away from his door, he swung it open again just as she was about to deliver another knock, "What do you want, and make it quick." He greeted through clenched teeth.

"So … you were talking to a cat?" Squall glared at her reproachfully but she objected, "Oh, if you want to continue your conversation, feel more than welcome to. I'll just wait in the other room." She slipped into his apartment and he shut the door behind her, "How's my favorite little brother doing?"

Squall rubbed his temples, knowing she wasn't going to leave any time soon. "Nice place …" Ellone complimented and looked around, "So like you … to take it fully furnished. I mean, I expected no less from someone who sucks at decorating without tearing down the walls."

"What do you want, Ellone?" Squall repeated impatiently, "And how the hell did you find me in the first place?"

Ellone plopped down on the couch and pet the kitten that only purred in return, "Oh, interesting story … I went to see _Rinoa_ today and at my inquiry of your whereabouts, she mentioned that she had paid off her debt to you. Now, I know the first thing you'd be looking for is a home and so I went directly to Maxwell. It took some threatening but I was able to weasel out your address. I shouldn't show my face in his office again unless I want his revolver to be aimed at my forehead."

"Good for you, Ellone." Squall sighed and didn't make a move to continue the discussion.

"_Rinoa _was looking kind of down … perhaps you would know why she looked so gloomy and sad?" Ellone asked innocently.

"Why the hell would I know?" He snapped angrily, "And what the hell were you doing in her office anyways? Still the greatest friends, I see."

"Yeah, some things'll never change, what can I say?" The young journalist replied calmly, "But anyways, you're ok, right?" Ellone didn't even wait for him to answer, "Of course you're not ok, silly of me to ask. By looking at you and overhearing the conversation with this lovely kitten has more than convinced me of what needs to be done." Squall looked at her in angry shock but she twittered on happily, "You know, this is the opportune moment, Squall … you shouldn't bury your past relationship or dismiss it … you should try and renew it. Sow back the loose ends."

"Are you stupid?" Squall blurted out in a blind rage, "SHE SHOT ME IN THE FRICKEN' SHOULDER! Then, then she told me that I was smalltime. Then, she bailed me from jail, handed me .5 of a million and told me to go fuck myself! Opportune moment, SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!"

Ellone shook a warning finger at him, "Tut, tut, my broken hearted sibling. The girl has very good reasons for what she's done. Actually … they're so sweet. I mean, she didn't tell me these reasons but I have a gift for the guess. It's unimaginable how cute her reasons are … I mean, it's … just so adorable."

Squall looked at his sister as though she was insane, "Adorable? Her … her reasoning … her reasoning behind setting me up is … cute …" He stared at her in total disbelief, "WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

"Don't scream and look at me like that, Squall Leonhart. You seem to forget that I'm still the elder here." Ellone pouted and crossed her arms, "You are completely ignorant of her reasons so don't tell me I'm crazy. You're being utterly childish here! How can you dare accuse her of treason when you don't know the logic behind it all? As unbelievable as this may seem to you, don't you think she may have very valid explanation? You falsely accuse her, my dearest little brother."

Ellone took a deep breath and resumed her lecture, "Innocent until proven guilty, though don't think I'm saying she's as pure as the Virgin Mary. You deserve to hear her excuses and then I will allow you to make a full judgment on her. She owes you the answers to all the little questions that swarm within that thick skull of yours. So all I ask of you, is to take up a rendezvous with her, and that will certainly not be a problem."

"Listen, Ellone, I won't ever see Rinoa ever again. It's finished." Squall's voice was even and calm. It was like ice shards through his sister's heart.

Contrary to Squall's, her voice was beginning to quaver, "So you're just going to mark her with a black cross like you did with me and mom?" She tried to swallow back the tears that stung her eyes, "How can you do that to her?" Ellone's voice rose in anger, "Mom loved you, Squall. I love you! She loves you more than anyone else on this fucking planet! Has it ever occurred to you that maybe, maybe you're just not making it any easier on us?"   
  
Squall dismissed the fact that his sister was on the verge of tears, "Mom fucking loved me, eh? Go to hell, Ellone! Mom wanted me to be fricken' perfect, 'Oh go to Balamb Garden, Squall … so many fucking opportunities!' What a goddamn lie! All mom was hoping for is that I'd marry some goddamn rich bitch and get the family out of the fucking slums! I may be selfish, but I certainly got it from her. All mom wanted-"

"All mom wanted is for you to be happy!" Ellone yelled back, "She gave the best of her to you, Squall … she did what she thought was right and still she died, helpless and alone without your pardon. Not that she needed your pardon; you're the one who needed the pardon! She would have forgiven you for everything you've said to her but now it's too goddamn late!" Ellone stopped to catch a sobbing breath, "Now, I'm trying to help you … I'm trying to help you reconcile with the only person who can save you."

Squall roared back, "SAVE ME? She's the only one who can 'save me'? Save me from what? What do I need to be saved from? I can take care of my own goddamn self."   
  
"Hasn't it ever occurred to you … that you're the problem in every fricken' relationship you've ever had?" Ellone questioned viciously, "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe Rinoa was trying to love you, as afraid as she was to actually fall in love, and you just ended up making it worse? You're so fucking unlovable! You've got these mood swings, sometimes your approachable, sometimes you're repelling, sometimes you feel like joking around, sometimes you feel like ripping someone's heart out! How do you expect her to be sure that you love her? How do you expect her to deal with that? She tried … but coping with her problems and yours was too much."

Squall remained bitterly silent so Ellone continued shakily, "I'm not sure if you can figure out what her own problems out … which I doubt because it's not like you asked. I just wished you'd understand. I won't make you … but whether or not you realize it, she's the only one who'll ever love you like that. Really love you. You just have to run a part of the mile and tell her to run her part as well. But you know, fuck it … you two can just stay where you are … and you can die alone … just like mom. The only difference is that she didn't deserve it." Ellone picked up her purse and showed herself the way out of the apartment, slamming the door on her way.

_I took their smiles and I made them mine_

_I sold my soul just to hide the light_

_And now I see what I really am,_

_A thief, a whore and a liar_

_I run to you,_

_Call out your name,_

_I see you there, father away_

Squall fidgeted with his hands before slamming his fist on the nearby wall. He entered his room, threw himself on the bed and glared at the ceiling above. "The only one who can save me from myself … the only one who can love me like this … why do I believe it?"

MEANWHILE RINOA HAD resolved to simply sitting in her chair, massaging her temples in an attempt to ease the migraine that simply would not leave her. It was impossible to concentrate on the contracts and Nicholas could not yet be reached. She was in no mood for work.

The Syndicate's head woman sighed and whimpered slightly. "If Squall were here he'd let me sleep and do all the work." She gave a little pout, "Why the hell was I so affected with what Ellone said? Fine … what if … what if I hypothetically admitted that once upon a time, I loved him … probably more than any other man in my life. What would it change now? Even if once upon a time, I … depended, wait … no, wrong word, I don't depend on anybody … even if I did … rely … damn, same thing." She groaned, "Hell, no one's around to hear my thoughts except me …"

_ I'm numb to you ... numb and deaf and blind._

_You give me all but the reason why._

_I reach but I only feel air at night_

_Not you, not love, just nothing._

_I run to you,_

_Call our your name,_

_I see you there, father away_

"Fine, I was once very dependent of him. I missed him after two days and he was as important as oxygen. I was in love with him, though it scared me, I couldn't help what I felt … and what about now? After knowing that he probably hates me now … do I still love him? I mean … does my thinking of him all the time instantly label me as 'in love'? I thought I had let go … maybe, maybe it's just physical love." Her thoughts were strung together painstakingly.

_Try to forget you,_

_But without you I feel nothing._

_Don't leave me here, by myself._

_I can't breath,_

_I run to you,_

_Call out your name,_

_I see you there, farther away_

She felt suddenly very angry, "How can I promise myself not to fall in love and be independent of every man? How do I keep such a stupid, impossible promise? So fine, I was in love with Squall Leonhart, I was dependant of his presence, his touch, his everything. It scared my half to death, I did what I did to save myself, let's turn the fucking page, move on up and forget him because I can't start dwelling on the past."

But Rinoa Heartilly had dwelt in the past her entire life. Her mother had been far from forgotten and Squall Leonhart wasn't even buried. Love was never _forgotten._ It faded, dissipated, died … but never was it obliterated from memory. Her 'dependency' had tied her down too deep throughout her life. Her mother, the alcohol, the drugs and Squall Leonhart all belonged in one category. To separate from chemicals was something she had been strong enough to do. Could she cut the threads with individuals? Then again, she had been carrying her mother for seven years and counting.

_I run to you,_

_Call out your name,_

_I see you there, farther away,_

_Farther away,_

_Farther away,_

_Farther away,_

_Farther away,_

_… Farther away … _

__

**Note: Well, I'm slightly afraid to say this because I think it may discourage you, but I'm very pleased with the reviews I've been getting lately. Thank you all very much for the feedback but PLEASE … don't stop there. I need to improve and to do that, I need your opinion on my work. So … _PLEASE REVIEW_ … I love you, all … really … **

**Additional Disclaimer: The song used in this chapter is called 'Farther Away' and it is sung by the omnipotent band 'Evanescence' … everyone bow down to their amazing music and the stunning vocals.**


	9. The Depth of A Grave

**The Depth of A Grave**

****

_Swallowed up in the sound of my screaming_

_Cannot cease for the fear of silent nights_

_Oh, how I long for the deep sleep dreaming_

_The goddess of imaginary light_

Squall's eyes were peacefully closed, an arm as his pillow. His breathing was near predictable when the kitten pounced onto the bed. It stalked up to its master like a hunter would to his prey. His back arched inwards, his tail flickered … time stood still and he leaped onto Squall's head. The sleeping man woke with a startle and instinctively flung the cat off him, "Sweet angry Jesus!" He cried out in surprise.

His heart slowly resumed beating normally and he was silent for a moment, paying no heed to the kitten's complaints. He rubbed the back of his neck and thought back to his serene nap. It had calmed him; there wasn't much of a doubt. Maybe it was his dreams … he growled in annoyance. She even was with him when he slept. His entire being now revolved around _her._

_In my field of paper flowers_

_And candy clouds of lullaby_

_I lie inside myself for hours_

_And watch my purple sky fly over me_

"Rinoa Heartilly … I've once heard that women are the most mysterious creatures that God put on this earth but then again, I don't believe in God. And she's way beyond mysterious." He thought, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "She was easy to fall in love with … susceptibly too easy. And according to my know-it-all sister, she's the only one who's capable of loving me … because I'm _so _unlovable."

He sighed and stared at the meowing kitten that hopped onto the bed once more. It seemed very angry at its proprietor for having thrown him off before. Squall ignored the meows but rubbed it behind the ears. It grew quiet and began to purr. "And maybe Ellone was right … but that doesn't matter … I'm going to bury Rinoa Heartilly forever. I have to forget her."

_I linger in the doorway_

_Of alarm clock screaming_

_Monsters calling my name_

_Let me stay_

_Where the wind will whisper to me_

_Where the raindrops _

_As they're falling tell a story_

"You know that's not possible, Squall … you know that, why is it so hard to accept that?" An inner voice tauntingly cried out, "Because it would be the dent in your armor, your weakness, your curse. It would tell you that you aren't as strong as you pretend to be. You're a feeble man … such a pathetic fool." The voice was right. "The grave is too deep to drop her in … Heartilly, in a coffin, cold, dead … her porcelain skin, frozen to the touch, her chocolate eyes void of life, her lips distant to your kisses, her hand unable to be reached for … can you handle that picture? Would you dig that grave, Squall?" He shuddered.

"She's too precious to me …"

_If you need to leave the world you live in _

_Lay your head down and stay a while_

_Though you may not remember dreaming_

_Something waits for you to breath again_

Squall took a calming breath and heaved himself off the bed. He went into the living room and searched the pockets of his jacket that he had carelessly thrown onto the couch. His fingers touched the straight edges of a business card and he pulled it out and stared at it. He fell back onto the sofa and reached for the phone on the end table. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, he picked up the receiver and dialed the number according to the card. It rung twice before being answered by the reception, "Hello, may I speak to Quistis Trepe? This is Squall Leonhart, she apparently has big plans for me …"

He was digging a grave but he would not reveal the name on the tombstone.

RINOA HAD FINALLY been able to reach Nick, her newest handyman, in the late afternoon. After pleasantly chatting about unimportant things, she politely requested his presence at The Syndicate headquarters, as they had pressing business to attend. The zealous young one had immediately accepted and he showed up twenty minutes later. After surviving Irvine's cross-examination, Nicholas proceeded to Rinoa's office.

"Hey, I'm here." He greeted and strolled to her messy desk, "What's it you need to know?" Rinoa looked up at him. She concluded that he wasn't handsome; he was boyishly cute with his short silver hair, spiked up near the forehead. His gray eyes had only watched over nineteen summers and his clothes screamed out teenager. His voice still had a naïve pitch.

"Not my type of guy …" She thought and smiled subconsciously, "I think I only have _one _type of man." Rinoa snapped herself back to reality, "Hi, I just wanted to talk to you about the time at the top of the parking lot … near the DeGracia casinos." She paused, allowing him to recollect his memory, "DeGracia knew we were there …" She noticed how unsurprised he seemed to be.

"Oh … really?" Such an amateur. His acting skills needed touching-up; either that or he had been born without the gift of lying. Rinoa said nothing and nodded her head, "Well, I'm sorry. Did it … affect the mission in any way?"

Rinoa remained silent for a moment and chose her words carefully, "Well, not per say … however, it's … interesting that DeGracia had the knowledge of my presence on the top floor of a nearly abandoned multi-story parking lot … unless … _unless _he had the information before hand." She studied him carefully and saw his uneasiness, "Then again, who the hell cares? I just thought I'd mention it. Anyways, have you ever heard of 'Black Dragon' … some guy named Viktor Lynch runs it. Very small, puny … ugly, though I am a bit biased. Well, the asshole's getting on my nerves." 

"So … shall I take care of him for you?" Nick asked, his confidence back in full boost.

"No. See, he's got a tendency to mix Quistis and I up. Not only is it insulting for me, but Trepe may take advantage of that. Since I'd probably be ripped apart if the tip of my toes graze her territory, I was wondering if you'd be a good little telegram boy and deliver this ultra important message to my good friend, Quisty and request an immediate response." Rinoa took an envelope from a random pile of papers and handed it to Nick.

She got up from her chair and leaned on the side of her desk, "So … how does five hundred dollars sound? It's just a message …" She smirked seductively as a manner of persuasion, "Because frankly, I could always _mail _it …" Rinoa remarked how cocky she was getting with employees … it was as if she was expecting him to roll on the floor, tongue dragging, to do her work.

"You don't know her address …" Nick sneered and advanced towards her, "Because five hundred bucks to a fifty cent stamp seems to look like a difficult choice for you." So he was a little brighter than she had judged him to be. A bump in the path that could be smoothened, she was still the better negotiator.

"Take it or leave it, buddy." She offered and tucked a strand of free hair behind her ear, "It just so happens to be convenient to use your services at this moment. Convenience or not, the message will eventually reach her whether through your hands, or the post office's. What do you say?"

"Rebuttal bargain, five hundred dollars and …" His sentence was left hanging as his lips bent down towards her. She felt his soft lips press against her own. They were Nick's lips, not Squall's. Should she still take the plunge? No, Nick's kiss wasn't matching, it left her unsatisfied and stirred her hunger for Squall's lips even more. It was all wrong.

Rinoa pushed him back, "I can't comply with that request." She answered curtly.

"Why not?" Nick questioned, almost playfully. 

"It would simply be unethical and erroneous." She responded, deathly serious, "You're just a boy." The words had come out more harshly than she had anticipated. A bitter feeling of regret settled in the pit of her stomach.

He pulled away offended and in slight shock, "I'm what?" He questioned boldly and took a few steps back, "What … did you say?" She averted his eyes, not wanting to repeat her statement for he had very well heard.

"I'm sorry." She apologized quickly, "But I can't do this. I can't give you a reason, you just have to accept it the way it is." Rinoa took a deep breath and continued on as if nothing was, "$700 and that's final." Her eyes still did not meet his.

Nick remained silent, still surprised and hurt by her blunt refusal. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and began a confident stride towards the door, "Done. Same means of payment." He replied shortly and turned the knob of the door.

"And don't read the message." She instructed sternly, "I trust you, Nick." The lie rolled off her tongue with such ease that it scared her. Even if he did read the message, it isn't as if he would understand a word of it. She would even be surprised if Quistis understood its meaning, she would probably have to dial up some specialist to figure it out.

Nick shut the door a little harder than he should have, leaving Rinoa to herself. A wry smile formed at her lips and she was on the verge of chuckling, "Good job, Rinoa … good job." She congratulated herself, "You're just a boy … woo, that'll go in the 'Year's Greatest Quotes' along with "Bobble heads make me dizzy." …" Rinoa gave herself a mental pat on the back and sighed, "What other stupid things can I throw into the course of the day?"

SQUALL ENTERED THE church with quiet footsteps that still echoed throughout the religious building. He strode to the confessional box, entered it and sat on the tiny stool provided, "Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been a decade since my last confession." He spoke up gruffly.

The priest's face was shielded by his hand but Squall already knew who it was. Upon hearing the voice, Kiros' hand dropped and he glared at the young man, "Squall, what is it that you're doing here?"

"Confessing my sins, father." Squall answered in a cynical manner that made Kiros shake with rage, "I wish to cleanse my soul of my sins if death should so happen to embrace me in the weeks that follow."

The priest rolled his eyes skeptically, deciding to play along, "Right, goes on, my child."   
  
Squall began a hearty list of wrong-doings, "I refused to honor my father and my mother, I ran away from home and made my sister cry, I committed adultery and I liked it, I mortally wounded people for business opportunities, I killed a drug-dealer because he refused to pay his debts to me, I robbed an entire bank of money, I escaped jail before my sentence was done, I dealt with thugs, I committed adultery and thought my partner was someone else … I liked that too, then I-" 

"For the love of God, STOP!" Kiros snapped hysterically, "Say as many 'Hail Mary's and 'Glory Be's as you want, never will you be forgiven such crimes, my child. Your lack of belief and the way you make a mockery out of religion are your greatest sins!"

"Kiros, I'll cut the shit but lose the priest act." Squall offered, "I need your help. It's nothing illegal so don't flip out on me. I just need you to find Ellone. She came to see me today and she made a hasty exit so I wasn't able to get her phone number or any other means of communication with her."

The father groaned in annoyance, "And that gives you the right to snap your fingers at me and make of me your messenger boy? No, Squall Leonhart … if you've hurt your sister to the point where you don't think she'll be taking contact with you again, I will not be the monkey in the middle. You want to know what you'll do? You're going to go see your father and you will sustain a pleasant conversation with him … then you will ask of Ellone … is that clear?"

"No!" Squall hissed angrily, "I have no father, I never have! Kiros, you're the closest damn thing I have to a freaking parental unit, will you please help me out here?"

"The man that owns the tool shop near the city library will be more than willing to help you." Kiros informed lightly, knowing how futile his attempts were becoming.

"The man at the tool shop is a big, fat moron! Why are you sending me to seek council from a dumbass, hmm? Why?" Squall bit back with irrepressible irritation, "Or is this some charitable act that the bible has labeled as 'a good deed'?"

"Please refrain from insulting the Holy Scriptures and do as I say." Kiros shut the confessional window and Squall knew he wouldn't answer to him anymore. He stepped back into the heart of the church and walked down the aisle of pews.

Turning on his heel he faced the altar and stared at the immense cross hung on the wall. It loomed over him as if to pronounce its greater power. The Son of God watched over him with an accusing eye. "Both you and your father are assholes!" Squall yelled and pointed at the symbol of reverence. Then he finally headed for the large, double oak doors.

As he left the church he heard a faint, "Amen." 

NICHOLAS' BROW FURROWED as he read the all-important message that was to be delivered. It didn't make any sense. Rinoa must have been on heavy drugs to think up of such a random message to be sent to her enemy. He read it over and over again and it didn't fit. Was Quistis her ally or her enemy? The message was almost friendly … discussing of filthy plans of murder that had already been executed. Could it really be this simple?

_If you could please find time to drown the important evidence in the river. Can a corpse sink fairly well? I hope so and you're welcome to stay. I must be off. Someone is requesting my presence. Enjoy the region._

It was her signature, there at the bottom, without a doubt. The last line suggested that Quistis was visiting town for a short while. How did this make any sense? He reluctantly got out of his car, still ignorant to the true message.

Nick re-sealed the envelope, got out of his car, walked up the stairs to Trepe's condominium and hesitantly rang the doorbell. She should be home; she didn't often displace herself to check up in the office. The door opened and there she stood, a dazzling blonde with striking green eyes. She had let her hair down so it fell inches under her shoulders.

"How can I help you?" The semi-goddess asked icily. She didn't like to waste her time with weird salesmen, though this one was quite cute.

"A message from Rinoa Heartilly." Nicholas replied cockily as though he was already anticipating her reaction. He held up the envelope to her.

Her thin, lightly penciled eyebrow shot up as she snatched the paper and ripped it open. At first she didn't seem to understand which pique Nick's curiosity even more, "What the hell is she on? Acid?" Her eyes continued moving back and forth across the paper. Something seemed to click and she began to chuckle softly, "Right … ok, message delivered … bye." 

She was about to shut the door in his face but Nick stopped her, "Wait! She wants a response."

"Listen, kid …" Quistis waved the message around, "I don't have this much time on my hands so I'll just be dropping her a line, ok? You can go run more errands for her, little boy … or were you expecting a tip?" She didn't wait his response; she slammed the door, leaving him glaring at no one in particular.

It was the second time he had been called a little boy that day. 

QUISTIS RE-READ THE message to make sure she had deduced the right meaning. She took a highlighter and outlined every fourth word. Those words alone spelt out 'please drown in a well and stay off my region.' There was no mistaken it, this was the intended significance.

She picked up the nearest phone in her living room and made herself comfortable on the couch. Strangely enough, she had 'The Syndicate' on speed dial so it wasn't long before she had Heartilly on the line, "Hello?"

"Very witty … you keep on getting creative, Rin." Quistis complimented, glancing at the highlighted message.

RINOA FROZE IN her office chair, unsure of how to reply to such a direct confrontation. Without taking too much time to think she replied quickly, "Thank you, now did you fully understand the meaning of my note or do I need to explain it to you a second time?" She faked a motherly voice as if she was speaking to a child.

"No, no, you made it clear enough. It's fine." Quistis answered, "Now, I'm curious to know how you can be so sure that we were on your precious territory."

"You were at my storehouse, Quisty, it's kind of hard to miss. Blond, Barbie-like … silicone in the chest, nothing in the head … who else?" Rinoa replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice, "I know you're probably just curious as to what I keep in there but if you're so bent on knowing, I can satisfy your curiosity." There was a threatening edge to her voice and she twisted and knotted the phone cord in an attempt to calm her nerves.

"Woo, getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren't we?" Quistis questioned nonchalantly, "For your information, I'm not the least bit curious of what you keep in that garage however, if it might be your artillery then … yes, I would like to know."

Rinoa whisked Irvine away who was desperately trying to get her to sign some papers, "Oh, no problem. But then I'd have to take the immense pleasure and drown you myself. Anyways, I just wanted to make sure you received and comprehended the message and since you have well, then everything is fine." And she couldn't help adding, "I'm sorry … was I speaking too fast for you?" 

Quistis' jaw clenched and she managed to reply, "No, more like too slow but I guess that's not your fault. I understand and don't worry, eighteen thousand children each year are born with down syndrome."

"Actually it's four thousand." Rinoa corrected smartly, "And you should make fun of kids who are different, I'm very disappointed in you." She began chiding innocently, "I mean, I've _never _made fun of your intellectual capacities in school. Even though it was hilarious that you couldn't read aloud in ninth grade. Remember, it's pronounced _or-ga-ni-sm _not _orgasm._"

"You're feeling pretty damn clever today, aren't you?" Quistis snapped back, "Speaking of mental inability, your boyfriend there … I think his name is Squall or something? Does he suffer from autism? He shows symptoms … very aloof, doesn't like being _cuddled_ …"

Rinoa's blood froze in her veins and her grip on the cord tightened, "Well that's funny, he didn't show those symptoms with me so I really can't help you there, Quistis … maybe he just doesn't like you very much." She glared at Irvine and he scuttled out of the room in fear, papers and pen in hand. He would come back later. "I mean, taking a dislike to you isn't very hard. One look might have been all he needed." 

Quistis snickered, "I'm sure. But we're going on a tangent. I won't step on your precious territory anymore but I can't help ask a favor in return."

Rinoa clicked her tongue, "How about I promise not to blow your fucking head off?" She was getting vicious and she couldn't do anything to hold her tongue. Rinoa knew she was exposing a large weakness of temper but all rationality had been thrown out the window. 

"I think your threats are a little far-fetched. You know you could never meet up to them." Quistis was gaining the upper hand in the conversation. Her head was cool and free of migraines. "I was thinking along the lines of knowing what DeGracia is to you."

"Why would DeGracia be anything to me except a rival for the top? No, see Quistis, he's just like you … a meaningless, powerless, inferior asswipe who will be crushed and disposed of in the most unceremonious of ways." Rinoa replied sharply, considering stabbing something with her pen.

"I think there's some link between Rinoa Heartilly and Mr. DeGracia. And you asked why? Well, he seems to contain so much anger and hatred towards you. Now, naturally, since he's got more territory and men than you do, I would have predicted your downfall a long time ago. But each time I try to do one little, measly thing to your precious Syndicate, he stops me with the reason that it's not necessary. What's the bargain between you and him? Did you fuck the old man or something?"

Rinoa was speechless. She stared at her papers, a mixed jumble of words that meant nothing to her at this moment, "There is no bargain, I didn't screw him … that's your job." Her tone held one of finality, "He's your ally, not mine. Maybe he just can't stand the thought of you getting hurt or failing miserably. Either or, I have work to do. It was nice talking to you. Call back anytime you feel like chatting … remember, I'm your friend before anything else." The last words stung with sarcasm and Quistis put down the receiver lightly.

True, she hated Rinoa Heartilly with an unmatchable passion but there are certain things you can't do to a human being. Quistis knew how much she had made Rinoa suffer worse pains than death, humiliation.

_Julia Heartilly Caraway's funeral was intricately carried out. After the priest delivered the sermon, the crowd dissipated, leaving bouquets of red roses and a solitary figure leaning over the freshly buried grave. Quistis saw the raven-haired teen drop a rose on the tombstone. Now was the moment to crush her … she was weak._

_She had vowed to make Rinoa Heartilly pay for humiliating her in front of the entire cafeteria last week and now was the opportune moment to make a lasting impression. Quistis casually strode near the only person in the dark cemetery, "So, how're you?"_

_The young girl wasn't crying but it was an effort to hide her pain, "How the hell do you think I am, my mother just died … unless you're too stupid to figure that out." Her eyes shone defiantly, almost in an attempt to prove her something … she was stronger._

_"Cancer, huh?" Quistis questioned, watching the sky cloud. Big drops of rain began to fall from the gray heavens, "Too bad it couldn't have happened fifteen years earlier. It would have saved me a big pain in the ass. Maybe if she hadn't been such a slut singing in bars, your father would have been saved from eternal damnation."_

_  
Rinoa stumbled backwards as Quistis gave her a rough push, "What are you doing here? Go the fuck away, don't you have anything better to do?" There was a quaver in her voice, salty tears streamed down from her hurt eyes and mixed with the rain. "Please, just leave me alone …"_

_  
Quistis snickered nastily and crossed her arms over her chest, "You beg now? If only I could get this on tape … you'd be the laughing stock of the school by Monday." She felt an immense pleasure at the tears that fell from her face and the sobs that got caught in her throat. This was massacre, this was gold. "Tell me, Heartilly, how deep is your mother's grave?" Her hand slapped the girl's wet cheeks and left a red mark, "Can she hear you crying … begging … screaming?"_

_"Fuck off, FUCK OFF!" Rinoa yelled back, her fist clenched, "FUCK OFF!"_

_  
Quistis looked at the grave and shook her head, "You hear that, Mrs. Caraway?" Her eyes darted back to the grieving girl, "You should really learn some manners, Rinoa … that isn't the way to treat someone who's come to pay her respects to your goddamn, filthy, whore for a mother. But don't worry … I won't judge you for it. Remember, I'm your friend before anything else."_

_She walked away slowly through the rain, leaving behind a broken girl, cold … alone … desperate. To the girl, the depth of a grave didn't seem so frightening anymore … a grave wasn't as deep as the dark, endless pit she was about to let herself fall in._

**Additional Disclaimer: I do not own the song 'Imaginary'. It is sung by Evanescence … yeah, I do like that band a lot, actually. God bless her vocals, damn do I wanna sing like her.**


	10. Attenuation of Souls

**Attenuation of Souls**

****

Squall pulled into the tiny parking lot of the seedy tool shop. His new car clashed with the scenery. Graffiti-streaked buildings, crushed paper cups blowing on the cracked asphalt and then there was a BMW. It slightly scratched the general image of poverty that was displayed throughout the area but the driver didn't show the least bit of pride in his newfound wealth. In fact, he was more than furious to be _here_, not district-wise but _here_, near a parental unit he had tried so hard to forget.

He slammed the door, his rage taking a physical form so he would better control his words when it would come time. He paced around, glaring at the shop in contempt. Why couldn't Kiros understand that this was pure torture? The young man leaned on the car's side and sighed. Finally, pulling himself together, he began striding towards the entrance. Squall yanked on the glass door, provoking a ringing tone to accompany his entry and made a beeline for the counter.

Laguna was doing crossword puzzles, sitting on a tiny stool by the cash. He was in such deep concentration that he didn't even notice Squall standing a few feet away, "What's a six letter word for dim-witted?" He muttered to himself.

"Stupid." Squall snapped, very irate, "Busy day, I see …"

Laguna gawked at his son as if his presence was a blessing, "Wow! Squall!" He tried to get off the stool but, in his anxiousness, he slipped off the edge and collided with the floor. Rubbing his sore rear, he got up and managed a smile. Squall rolled his eyes but Laguna took no heed, "Oh gosh! Wow! How've you been doing?"

Squall remembered Ellone's words and they helped him answer pleasantly, or as pleasantly as Squall Leonhart could get, "I've been fine." It was a curt answer that Laguna couldn't be satisfied with. The father made big gestures to encourage his son to go on, "I'm doing fine, everything's great." Squall's irritability was nearly peaking.

Laguna's face fell at his son's lack of talent for social activities. At an attempt to make good conversation, the aspiring father threw out the worst topic he could have possibly thought of, "So how's you're little girlfriend?"

"My little girlfriend?" Squall asked in a mixture of shock, anger and annoyance.

Laguna smiled sheepishly, "You know, the one that was a couple of months older than you … erm, I think … Rina was her name? Reneya? Rhin … ah … I can't remember."

"_Rinoa_." Squall corrected, now in a very foul mood, "And how the hell do you know about her in the first place? I don't recall calling or introducing you to her." The words were said between clenched teeth and Laguna couldn't help feel he had said something terribly, terribly wrong. His feelings were fact.

"Well, uhm … I … asked Ellone how you were doing a couple of months ago and she mentioned … Rinoa … and so … I … asked her more questions. She seems really nice though, your mother would be proud, really. Don't think I'm meddling in your affairs, I really didn't do it purposely, I swear." Laguna didn't seem to realize he was rambling.

"Don't …" Squall silenced him, "Don't come up with stupid excuses, just stay out of my shit. Quit trying to act like the omnipresent father because you aren't. You … were never there and so don't try to weasel your way into that place now because I'll save you some time and tell you it won't work. Stop it."

Laguna nodded solemnly, "Ok, I understand, I'm sorry. I was just worried about you. You never call and never drop by so, you know, when Ellone comes down here, I like to hear about you too. But I won't do it again, I'm sorry." The father averted his son's eyes and remained silent.

Squall spoke again hesitantly, feeling slightly guilty for his outburst, "Speaking of Ellone, where is she? I came here to know if you had her phone number, address or anything."

"Oh, right … of course." Laguna stuttered getting out a pad of paper and a pen. He jot down a cellphone number, an e-mail address and a residential address that he pulled out from his memory bank, "You should be able to reach her at all those places, no problem. She … doesn't check her e-mail very often though so you best try her cellphone." He ripped the paper from the pad and handed it to his son.

"Thank you." The words were forced from his throat as he accepted the bit of information. He tucked the note in his jean pocket. "I have to go, bye." The words were awkward. Squall had never learnt how to speak to his father unless it was to yell at him or argue with him.

Laguna smile forcefully and nodded, "Ok. Take care." 

"Yeah." Squall turned and mumbled, hopeful that his father wouldn't hear, "You take care too."

RINOA DIALED SELPHIE'S phone number hesitantly, looking down on the tiny piece of paper occasionally making sure of the numbers. The dial tone took over and she drummed her fingers on her desk impatiently. "Hello?" Selphie's cheery voice piped up from the other end.

"Hey Selph." She greeted as happily as her current mood allowed, "How're you?"

"Pretty good, pretty good …" A cacophony of noises were lively and loud in the background, "I'm downtown, want to meet me anywhere?" Sirens, honking and angry pedestrians nearly muffled her voice entirely.

"I wish I could but things are pretty busy." Rinoa explained sighing in desperation at the papers that were spread out over her workspace, "Though coffee sounds _really _good right about now." The nail on her index finger scratched her cheek in a pondering manner and she added, "Ah, to Hell with this … where are you?"

Selphie gave her directions to the nearest coffee shop, usually not too crowded where they could discuss without being bothered by the buzz of the other customers. It was near the end of the afternoon, where a few sparsely occupied tables were the choice location for hushed conversations. "So, what's up?" Selphie asked over the rim of her cappuccino.

Rinoa had decided to go with a cold orange juice in case the caffeine completely shot her nerves, sending her into a third degree anxiety seizure. "Nothing exceedingly fun and interesting … well, at least, nothing worth mentioning. You?"

Selphie shrugged and took another sip from the mug, "It's the city of Deling, plenty of things are new but I just don't give a shit." She smiled wryly and caught Rinoa's gaze, "So … you must have called me for a reason. You don't look like the type who likes to idly chat about stupid things …"

An amused expression spread across Rinoa's gorgeous facial features, "I'm not, you're right … I have a request … well, more on the favor side but anyways. Does Viktor Lynch ring a bell?" Her glass of orange juice was tossed from palm to palm, a habit she had picked up from Squall that replaced her usual nervous fidgeting.

Selphie looked up to the ceiling in a grand silence of thought, "Pff, yeah … vaguely, way in the distance. Zell isn't too fond of him so we steer clear. Well, we try to avoid DeGracia territory in general and by doing so we don't meet up with Lynch very often. Why?"

"Well, a friend dropped a few pointers on him. Since he's located on forbidden territory, it's a shame to say, but I could use him. My fath-" She caught herself, her eyes going wide with confusion at what she was about to let slip, "I mean, DeGracia knows of our alliance so he won't let it go by that you're smuggling narcotics for me."

Selphie flinched and dragged her fingertips along the rim of the cup, "Were you about to say 'My father'?" She asked nonchalantly, her emerald eyes piercing through the cocoa brown ones, searching for the truth, the lies. 

"No." Rinoa replied, a bit too loudly, staring defiantly at Selphie, "Hell no." She repeated for good measure, a little more quietly this time but she knew Selphie was skeptical. To avoid further cross-examinations, she skipped to a new topic, arousing Selphie's curiosity even more, "Anyways, back to Lynch … I need to know where his front is … where he is most of the time, that way I can send someone in to negotiate. We've met before but he doesn't like me very much so … it'd be preferable if we just remain at a distance."

"Of course." Selphie played along, her mind still back with DeGracia and his connection with Rinoa Heartilly, "Well, I can't say that I know but I could get back to you. I've got my ways of digging deeper so it shouldn't be a problem. I'll phone you if I catch onto anything concrete."

Rinoa smiled thankfully, "I appreciate it." 

HIS STEPS THUNDERED down the echoing, white hallways. His eyes glued to the number on the paper, 319. Squall stopped at a wooden apartment door, the label matching the number on the paper he had received from Laguna. "She had better be home." He thought bitterly and he knocked twice. The echo of the simple rap at the door boomed through the empty hall, "Christ, that's creepy."

A short brunette answered the door and glared at him reproachfully, "How did you get my address and since when are you interested? Hmm?" She questioned him, holding the door partially open so he wouldn't allow himself in.

"Well, hi to you too, Ellone, it's wonderful to see you're so happy to see me again since I've no intention of begging for your forgiveness. On the other hand, I've carefully pondered about what you said, I mean, _screamed_ to me this morning. I've considered the others around me and I've decided that maybe I do need a little change in attitude and that mother wasn't entirely responsible for my shitty behavior to this day. I've also decided to speak to Rinoa Heartilly again because, as you stated, she owes me many answers to the questions swarming in my thick skull." His voice was monotonous and mocking, "As you may have already concluded, you've succeeded in making a big change in my meaningless life as I've already taken some contact with a parental unit."

"Laguna?" Ellone asked, her eyes lighting up in surprise, suddenly pleased with her brother's sudden change of heart, "That's wonderful, Squall, what did you two talk about?"

Squall rolled his eyes in irritation, "I was in and out of the tool shop, I only went to ask where you were at because I still need to talk to you. Since you stormed out last time, I didn't really catch your address."

"Poo." Her face fell but she swung the door open, inviting him in, "I was expecting to hear all about your father and son conversations. It would have been so sweet and adorable on your part. But, I suppose I shouldn't have expected such a dramatic change since you'll probably _never _speak to him like that."

"No, you're right, I'll probably never have a father-son conversation, as you call them." He strode into the apartment and took a seat at the kitchen table, "But I didn't come to discuss him, I came to discuss _her_. Where is she?"

"No, no, no, no!" The good-natured sister reprimanded, "You shouldn't do things like _that_. Have you no sense of excitement? I can't believe you! No imagination whatsoever! Look, I'll admit she probably won't allow her secretary to slot you into her timetable. You've got to make her come to you, it's like a game of hunting."

Squall looked nothing short of annoyed, "Of course, why would it be that simple? She's a fucking _woman_! Thanks for the wake-up call, Elle, much appreciated! So, should I send her a bouquet of roses with a little card stating, 'Hey sweetheart, long time no see, want to have a cup of coffee sometime?' I think I like that idea, gimme the name of a good florist."

"Oh, you're one for humor today." She smiled and sat down opposite of him, "You could try 'Flowers For Heart' down Trigger street. It's a lovely little greenhouse-ish place with a cute arrangement of-"

"Sarcasm, sarcasm!" Squall snapped irritably at his sister, glaring, "I'm not sending her a bouquet of freaking flowers! So tell me now, what am I suppose to do to get an appointment with her? Jump through hoops, wag my tail, play dead and roll over?"

"Lovely imagery … _wagging your tail_. Simply lovely." She smirked and he groaned in disbelief at her interpretation of his statement, "I'm just telling you that she probably wants to try and avoid you right now. Don't take it in a bad way …"

"What's to be taken in a bad way? The girl doesn't want to see my face! How can I be hurt by that?" Satire was spouting from his mouth like a geyser from the earth's crust. "Fine, I'll figure something out. As for you, I still need a favor of you. What newspaper do you belong to? Please tell me it's not the 'Daily Post'."

"Now, why would I go work for someone who hates my little brother with a fiery passion? Of course I don't work for Seifer Almasy." Ellone smiled and bit her lip, "I work for 'Deling Gazette'. Why the sudden interest? Not like you ever cared before. I'm surprised you even remembered I was a journalist."

Squall ignored her cries of pity completely, "Ok, I'll be giving you some good shit to write about soon so keep your pencil poised. If I've learnt one thing since coming to Deling city it's that the streets are a chessboard and it's up to you to move the pieces. I'm about to kill a couple of pawns before moving on to the rest." 

RINOA HEARTILLY WASHED down two more aspirins with a glass of water, staring at her figure in the bathroom mirror disbelievingly. The bottle of painkillers was nearing its end and it had only been one day. This was beginning to be abnormal. Sign number one of a beginning addiction. It was the last thing she needed at the moment but she didn't have time to reconsider it or prevent it, for that matter.

"It's been a hard day." A futile attempt at a pathetic excuse, "I think this was a simple act of survival." Well it was, her head would have exploded without them. In the safety of her confined apartment, she was at ease. There was no one; she basked in the serenity of solitude in complete bliss. Alone. Funny how she took refuge within something she feared so much. Perhaps it was simply acceptance that this was the way she would be spending the remainder of her days.

"Days, not years, not months. Days." She felt her eyes prickle with salty tears, "Fuck, that's depressing." The girl caught her tears before they had a chance to fall. Restlessness was growing, slowly, surely. A tumor of darkness swelled inside of her, day by day, robbing her of strength, of will, of life. She interpreted it as punishment. A penalty for screwing up all the chances ever dished out at her.

Squall Leonhart was gone. Figment of him remained, in her shattered heart. Broken by her own hands. Rinoa could close her eyes and swear she still felt his fingertips, his lips, his entity. Imagination. The only thing that remained, the only thing that she had left to keep herself sane.

Sitting on the couch, staring at a dark television screen she cried, hugging her knees like the child she still was. Her eyes closed painfully with two rivers of hurt coursing down her cheeks. The headache was getting worse. Rinoa engrossed herself in her thoughts, fading the line between reality and fiction. Her only refuge.

JAMES CARAWAY HAD spent an entire day in council with fellow congressmen so needless to say, he was quite content in the blissful, sanctifying silence of his penthouse apartment with his second wife gone out for the week to Timber. It was near twilight when he poured himself a glass of champagne.

He sat in a leather armchair by a beautiful picture window that overlooked the center of the city of Deling, alive with streetlights and midnight clubs. Near the chair was a polished, rosewood end table with intricate carvings at the legs. Mr. James Caraway II unlatched the wooden box of the Cohiba Siglo VI cigars and took one between his index and forefinger, a pensive look in his dark, ebony eyes.

Caraway closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was a well-built man, tall but not lanky. Gray and white streaked his raven hair, a man of good age. Mid-fifties, but his form certainly didn't let it show. He was as healthy as a newly recruited soldier but no one knew quite why. Since his wife died, he had a notorious reputation for drinking like a fish and smoking like a chimney. He ate rarely, when he did it was little. Though many still owed him respect for the wise decisions he managed to make under states of intoxication.   
  
However, when his daughter left, his career flattened to a deadline. The council had little choice but to keep him as a member. He did, after all, run most of Deling and the city had never been so prosperous. Decaying, rotting with crime and hard-bitten delinquents, but the economy skyrocketed. The stocks had never been so high, the markets never so big. Why change?

His gaze shifted around the room and lingered solemnly on the Steinway piano in the corner of the extensive living area. Its keys glinted in the silver of the moon, the ebony color pronouncing its richness. The piano had belonged to Julia Heartilly and her widowed husband could not bear parting with it. He would have offered it to his daughter, had they been on better terms.

Admiring that graceful instrument, he could reminisce without being bothered. It was still fresh in his memory, his wife's delicate fingers summoning each note with musical perfection, the by-product was a melodious, soothing tune that echoed through the manor, when they still lived there. His daughter, a little goddess even at that age, with a radiant smile observing, learning. He wondered if she remembered how to play.

It was all too beautiful back then. The little disagreements between father and daughter seemed so child-like, so unimportant compared to the silences that had ballooned up between the two of them over the past few years. He loved his daughter, but at the same time a roused anger boiled him over when he heard her rebellious, mocking voice on the phone. A certain animosity grew in unison with the number of drugs she imported each month. His daughter, his baby girl meddling with such crude things. Though he was mostly to blame, an absent father lingering in the shadows.

His presence worsened at the departure of his wife. Caraway was a man of business and children certainly wasn't his forte. Especially those who were peaking adolescence. Instead of mending their differences he drifted further and further away until some were certain he couldn't give a rat's tail if his daughter went missing or if she was found hanging in her closet in total desperation.

It was all lies. What would anyone understand of his life in fatherhood? His daughter answered to no one except his wife and now she was six feet under, cold and dead in a coffin. Any attempts at discipline on his part were ignored, or mocked by her. What would an inexperienced, single father do with an impossible child at the brink of young adulthood? Soon she would start dating, making out in the backseats of cars, smoking, drinking, fucking. How the hell was he supposed to handle that?

Was he supposed to give her 'the talk'? She would have probably laughed in his face. She was the farthest thing from naïve, though it was hard for the others to believe. Rinoa Heartilly openly swore and cursed in front of her father, sometimes purposely, just to get his veins pumping a bit faster, just to push him to the utmost limit.

He _knew_ she snuck out of her room every goddamn night, he _knew_ of the states she came back in, as a father he knew of the boys she hung around with. And in truth, he wished he didn't. Tormented by the consequences of her actions, he was a prisoner to the inability to act. "If only … if only you hadn't went away …" Caraway spoke grievously to the piano, the symbol of his deceased wife. "If only you could have stayed, if only for a little while. I know it's selfish of my part to let you linger in sufferance …"

He quickly wiped away a stray tear from his eye. "If only you had taught me … how to be a little more like you, maybe our daughter would still be at an Ivy League school, maybe she would have a chance at a more stable life. Maybe she wouldn't be dealing with thugs. She's falling, Julia … and I don't know why. Irvine won't tell me, and she hardly speaks to me, or rather, I'm too proud to let her know I care. But she's falling … and I can't catch her."

THE RINGING IN her head wouldn't go away. Her brain was pounding within her skull, her fingertips tingled and shook incessantly. It had never been this bad before. Her heart raced against her will, breaths were quick and shallow. It was as if her lungs had shrunk, leaving her with an immensely tight pain in her chest. What was this? Impending death looming over, a shadow across her face, waiting for the opportune moment?

"I'm going crazy." Rinoa whispered hoarsely to herself, clutching her shaking hand to her chest in agony. Tears of fear trickled from her eyes, she hugged her knees and closed her eyes, trying to calm down. "Ok, one thing at a time … just … one … thing …"

But she wasn't listening to herself, "Viktor Lynch … Selphie's going to be calling me soon, I never signed those papers for Irvine … what if Trepe's planning something right now? Squall … oh, shit … whatever happened to those blueprints I was studying, I have to go back to the office. It hurts … Squall … is Nick really one of my father's henchmen keeping an eye out for me? Where's Squall … oh God … it hurts." 

Too many thoughts, not enough gray matter to digest it all. It was too much. She couldn't keep up with her heart, her thoughts, blood was rushing through her too fast, too much oxygen, too little space in her lungs, too much, too little. Rinoa whimpered and choked on a sob. "I'm going to die, shit … I'm dying." The darkness of her room seemed to make her even more nervous, "I can't see … where's … the switch … I'm dying."

A burst of silver burned her eyes and she began to feel a little lightheaded. She couldn't go back to sleep, the nightmares would come again. Her eyes unfocused and focused back rapidly and repeatedly. Sweat poured from her hairline, down to her chin, mixing in with the tears. "What the hell is this?" Her mouth was sandpaper. Everything was happening to fast. Had she just heard someone come into her apartment?

No, hallucinations … only hallucinations. She repeated this to herself over and over until she seemed to calm a bit but the prickling feeling remained. The tightness in her chest didn't leave her. Why was this happening to her?

She clasped her hands to her ears and let out an anguished scream, shutting her eyes tightly. Incoherent thoughts raced through her head, only one could be deciphered, "I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm really dying."

_Please review._

Important Note: Rinoa isn't really dying … she's just having a really bad panic attack. For those who haven't figured it out, she actually suffers from anxiety. Which would explain her headaches and irritability in the mornings. Actually, in chapter 5, there were hints that she had anxiety … a) Couldn't handle speed in a very dramatic way b) Thoughts of dying c)Insomnia. It just got worse, and don't worry … I have a feeling she'll be just fine.


	11. The Olympus of Deling

**"The Olympus of Deling"**

****

Squall called Trepe HQ at half past nine the next morning and was told that Quistis still hadn't come into the office yet, "Does she not work or something?" He questioned rudely to the same secretary that he had spoken to last time. There was a dead silence on the other end for quite some time until the woman cleared her throat stiffly.

"Well, if you really need to speak to her that badly, I could give you her private phone number but I don't think she'll be in more of a mood to talk to you." There was a certain threatening edge to her comment.

Squall wasn't intimidated, "Oh, she'll listen to what I have to say." After a slight banter, the secretary gave in and dictated the number to him. She dryly said good-bye and hung up rather snappishly. The handyman shrugged, uncaring. He dialed the number he had quickly jotted down on a corner of the newspaper and waited.

"Hello?" A feminine voice he recognized answered.

There was a pause and finally he spoke in a cool demeanor, "So you give your card to people who wear a badge of talent and yet you fear the office. I begin to doubt the credibility of your words, Quistis."

"Squall!" Quistis squealed gleefully at the other end, making him smirk on his side of the line, "How've you been? Still playing Taxi with the lesser of Deling or have you moved on to bigger pieces of the chessboard." Coincidence. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who referred the never-sleeping city to a game of chess.

"You wouldn't understand if I tried explaining. You know, sometimes pawns can take out the king. Either way, I was wondering if I could be of service to you somehow … service by means that I would bridge more connections with the refined criminals of this decaying city. Would you be so kind?"

"Anything for you, honey." Quistis cooed seductively, "Let's see what I could assign you." Flipping of papers was heard in the backdrop, "How would you like a chance to impress Mr. DeGracia himself, leader of the biggest empire of crime in the city of Deling? I bet you could make a pocket full of money … though it involves _taxi driving_." She pronounced the last words with dabs of mockery but Squall paid no heed.

"Sounds like fun. Give me the details." He replied curtly.

More paper rustling, "Alright, well, this afternoon at 1 P.M. he's going to need a driver. He's going to a conference, it's somewhere in the heart of the city … hold on, it's at the Elysian Fields Auditorium. You know where that is, right? Who in the city of Deling doesn't? Big, white marble tower or building or whatever. Anyways, he needs to be picked up from Angel Grove apartments; it's in the rich side of town. You'll need to rent a limo … go to Barx's Car Rents, corner of Stonehenge and Harmony, near the big casino, and tell the manager I sent you. Black limo by the way."

Squall was already getting weary of the information and had begun to take notes on tiny corners of the newspaper again. Quistis chattered on, "A few guidelines now. Keep the window separating the driver's seat and the backseat up at all times. I've never even seen Mr. DeGracia in person so he's a very shadowy kind of guy. Unmask his identity and I have a feeling you'll end up dead in a ditch of some sort. He needs complete incognito. So, anyways, that's it. If you want, I'll call him right now to tell him he's got a driver."

"Do I have to wear a clean suit, a tie and a chauffer hat?" Squall questioned sardonically, far from pleased with all the rules he suddenly had tying him down.

Quistis giggled and replied, "No. You won't see each other at all so I don't see what it would matter. Just don't do anything too rash and get him to the conference. Everything should go along very smoothly. I'll pay you $2000 and he'll probably give you a nice tip."

"Oh, a tip. It's being a busboy all over again. And did you say a _nice_ tip? So, something like three bucks! I'm feeling rich now!" Squall blurted out sarcastically, making Quistis chuckle sweetly.

"You're a very funny guy, Squall." She complimented, still laughing, "But the tips from DeGracia usually range from ten grand to twenty grand. I'm sure you'll put it to good use. So are you up for it?"

"Well, what kind of question is that?"

QUISTIS PHONED DEGRACIA'S private cellphone number and told him she had a trust-worthy gentleman assigned to the task of driving him to the auditorium for his meeting. He thanked her, "Good of you, Quistis. You're very reliable. However, is your handyman equally so?"

"Of course!" Quistis exclaimed proudly, "Only the best for the best, sir. He'll pick you up at your penthouse at 12:30 P.M. and you'll find him very efficient on the road. It's a smooth drive, and a rather abrupt one … though that is the way you like them, isn't it? I've warned him of your regulations to maintain your identity unknown."

"Very nice, very nice. If I'm pleased with his work, there'll be no doubt that I'll hire him as my own. If you don't mind sharing, Quistis?" The masked Caraway joked on the other end and smiled, "Any other news?"

"No, however, I'm quite curious, sir … why do you wear a masque of mystery with I, your devoted ally? I feel slightly neglected, as though your faith in me has faltered somewhere down the line." Quistis strung her words together painstakingly.

"My dear friend, leave the delicate words to a minimum, you will not faze me with your fancy speeches. My mask of mystery, as you referred it to, will not be pierced by a potential turncoat, I'm sorry but I must shield myself. Thank you for bringing me a candidate for some of my rather bleak work. I'll speak with you later." He turned off the cellular phone and looked out towards the city from his picture window in the penthouse.

In this city, rotting and decaying from crime, at this very moment men were killing, being killed, screwing, being screwed, loving, being hated and unbeknownst to them all, there was a world around them. The waters at the edge of the city, Poseidon guiding them into currents, rivers and streams that were long forgotten, the earth was abused, unfertile and dry. Who knew of such things anymore, who cared?

Deling was domed up into a bubble, independent of the world but dying at the core. Pollution weighed heavily in the sky and blood stained every sidewalk. Amongst all of that was Caraway. A lost soul wandering purgatory, wondering what was worst: a quick and abrupt death or the endless road that had become his life. The sands of time still trickled, leaving him grayer and older than before. How long would this go on for? When would the pain stop?

"Not a day goes by when I don't think of our daughter, Julia. Not a day goes by where I don't thoroughly think of whether I hate her or love her or both. What is it that you would have me do? The only way I can ever repay my debt to you is protect her, watch over her … make sure she doesn't get hurt. But don't ask me to be a father. Don't ask me to take on a role that I can't fulfill and that she doesn't want me to fulfill."

SQUALL PULLED INTO the private courtyard of the Angel Grove apartments with a sleek, black limousine at 12:30 P.M. on the dot, as he had been instructed. DeGracia watched, cloaked in a dark, tailored suit from the entrance window. The politician, part-time mob boss slipped onto his head a dark top hat made of beaver felt. It was just a precaution, to hide his eyes and most of his facial features.

The richly clothed man allowed himself into the back of the limo without assistance and was pleased that the young man in the front had obeyed the rules Quistis had laid out for him. The window dividing the back from the front was up all the way.

"Wow, incognito … no kidding there." Squall thought nervously from the driver's seat as he watched, from the side mirror, the murky individual get into the car. He heard the door close and that was his signal to drive away. His driving skills were at the apex of expertise; the drive was as Quistis had promised, smooth but not too slow. When they were half way there, Caraway pushed his button to do away with the pane of glass separating the servant from the master.

Squall clutched the steering wheel tighter, slightly taken aback. Nervousness began to nibble at the pit of his stomach. He debated whether or not to press his own button in a frenzy to keep that window up, "With all do respect sir," He spoke up quietly, his eyes avoiding the rearview mirror just in case, "Are you just trying to find a fault so you can take away my tip?" He was half-expecting a grotesque monster to be in the back seat, which would explain why the old gentleman didn't want to be looked at.

Caraway smirked and removed his top hat, "Change of plans, my boy. Drive to the docks. And if you can keep up with my initial plans, you'll get more than a tip."

Squall was feeling slightly irate and sarcastic, "Woo, like home insurance?" He turned onto a different street to comply with the request of his client.

"I think I like you." Caraway declared suddenly as he was taking off his heavy cloak, leaving him in a dark pair of pants and a white shirt with a black tie, "You don't look like the type of man who leaves jobs half done … or the traitor kind. I'd say you've done some of this street work before, what's your name, kid?"

"Squall Leonhart." Squall's spirit had eased down a bit, now slightly curious as to why DeGracia had revealed himself. Wouldn't it have been safer to find out beforehand if he could be trusted or not? As far as this mob boss was concerned, he could have been the associate of one of his worst enemies. "Are you Mr. DeGracia or are you Caraway, the renowned and widely hated politician?" There was something familiar about his face, he just couldn't figure it out.

"Both actually." Caraway replied, sinking back into the seat, "My real name is James Caraway. I'm, as you said, a renowned and widely hated politician but in all honesty, I can't help meddling with crime. It's quite thrilling, if I may use the term. Now, I'll be as frank as possible, I need a right-hand man. A kid I could always count on to run my seemingly unimportant errands. I'm about to test you and if you fail …" He let his sentence linger threateningly.

"If I fail? What? You'll kill me?"

"No, you know what's worse than death, Squall?" Caraway asked, not waiting for a response, "Near-death. Because when you die, you're only afraid for that one split moment and then it's over. But when you just start to feel the life leaving you, when you feel your heart starting to fail and then somehow you manage to survive, that fear is mesmerized, locked into your memory forever, coming on occasion to haunt you in the middle of the night. What's worst than death, boy, is the fear of dying."

"That's a highly morbid analogy, sir." The driver observed, still watching the road. It wasn't long before they parked at the docks and got out of the limousine. Caraway led the way to a small warehouse next to many others. The scenery was familiar to Squall who had recently come to pick up .5 of a million dollars in one of these depots.

"How'd you get that scar?" Caraway asked, without the least bit of shyness as he unlocked the door of his entrepot.

Squall began his story hesitantly, "I used to be a SeeD at Balamb Garden and I didn't get along with this other kid too well. We were fighting, accidents happen."

Caraway turned on the light of the nearly desolate storehouse, "I know this dumbass, blondish, he's got the same scar except running the other way around. Owns the main newspaper circulating Deling city. Almasy, that's his name … pricky little asshole. His brother, Cain is worst." 

"Yeah, Almasy. Seifer. I've met Cain once and even that didn't go down too well, he didn't recognize me though. Seifer's pride can't be shattered, that's the only problem with the guy." Squall looked around the large room. Shooting targets were set up on the wall and several gun cabinets were lined up on the other side.

"No, I wouldn't say that's the only problem with the guy but anyways. Cain's his younger brother, but he's a tame idiot once you get him to shit his pants. Ok, let's see what kind of gunmen you are." Caraway flipped through the numerous tiny keys that were on his key chain. He took a specific key and unlocked the third cabinet, taking out a PSG-1 sniper. It was a beautiful gun with a polished barrel, loaded with appropriate bullets. "Stand behind the yellow border, line yourself up with a target and fire three shots on three different targets in your range. Might want to put something on your ears, it echos in this place."

IRVINE SURVEYED THE busy office while drinking a cup of coffee in a desolate corner, watching the employees scurry about under his command. How long had they been building up to this? Each day a sacrifice, it had become a routine. Now they had done it, a company of entrepreneurs masking the criminal empire beneath. Why wasn't it good enough? Why was there still something missing for her? "Guess money really isn't everything." He thought solemnly.

Not by blood, but a brother all the same, Irvine could read Rinoa like an open book. Every day he saw her slipping, stumbling and falling deeper into the rut of despair and each day he knew a little more of her died. She had accomplished so much and yet lost the only thing that mattered in the end. He knew of her torn soul, half living, half dead.

He couldn't ease the pain, he couldn't protect her from those demons. There was only one person who could but Irvine would never call on him for his sister's well being. In truth, the older brother had never really liked the smart-alecky idiot but Rinoa certainly had and still did. If he hadn't known better, he would have declared it love at first sight, which wasn't very typical of Rinoa.

She always had a certain attraction to rougher men but never had she been silly enough to let herself fall in love, or rather the idea terrified her entirely. Irvine thought he could count on that, however, Squall Leonhart was different than the other men. How? He hadn't the faintest clue, but he knew Squall was a dangerous guy, fire in the hands of his stepsister.

So today he watched as she suffered without him. Irvine was perfectly aware that his sister hadn't seen other men since she had dropped her lover boy in jail. It struck him as odd for the first few months because Rinoa was _never _single. If it wasn't a fling, it was a steady but after Squall, it was nothing. She left phone lines dead to the numerous men who desired her and she shut doors to the ones who were rolling on the floor for her. And he knew perfectly why.

As a brother, he should have seen this coming; he should have been able to prevent her destruction. Rinoa had always been prone to addiction, infatuation even. She was just so weak, so frail … she clung onto everything she could for hope, for life. Irvine knew if he were to leave her now, she'd collapse. "Damn it, I'm the only thing keeping her on her two feet." He shut his eyes painfully.

Unexpectedly, Rinoa came into the office and made a beeline for Irvine, "Hey, guess where I just came from?" He could tell she was happy with herself, and couldn't help remarking on how talented she was at creating façades that would hide her broken soul or how she indulged herself in frivolous activities to help forget her pains.

He faked a smile, trying to mask his thoughts, "I don't know, the chocolate factory?"

"Ha-ha, very funny." Rinoa scowled and crossed her arms, "No, I just came from the bank! I was doing some trading this morning on one of the top floors of that little goldmine and then, suddenly, an idea of genius hit me! I know it's not a surprise because, let's face it, I'm the intellectual here," This provoked a disbelieving laugh from Irvine which she ignored, "I bought over $200,000 of shares in a gun industry."

Her brother looked absolutely unimpressed, "Woo … ok, why? What's so special about the gun industry … it's the most constant company in the world. Never gains, never loses." 

"I'm about to make the balance tilt!" Rinoa announced in glee, "See, Deling is a city of crime, people are constantly buying guns but never in bulk. They buy what they need. Now, if I were to, let's say, order some men to go and shoot random, _innocent_ pedestrians' heads off then the entire population would be absolute befuddled! They would buy insurance, but most of all _guns _since they'd be so damn scared! Every big, tough family man would buy himself a Ruger to protect his family; you know men and the testosterone effect, anyways! The companies would skyrocket! It would be … like the plague!"

"You are a sick, deranged, sadistic, little psycho!" Irvine exclaimed in awe, "Are you out of your flipping mind?! What is the matter with you? You're a complete mental case, let me call in the men in white coats!!" His mouth hung open loosely in shock.

She stuck out her tongue, "Fine, don't be as excited as I am about this." 

Her brother laughed in utter incredulity and brushed his hand on the top of her head, "You're such a kid, you know?" His eyes softened and he smiled coyly. He knew very well she wouldn't shoot innocent pedestrians, though she may order a tiny gang brawl on a busy street.

"I'm a what?" Rinoa's eyes narrowed accusingly and she crossed her arms.

"I'll be in my office." Irvine switched the subject expertly and moved past her towards his bureau.

"Explain your previous statement, Kinneas!" Rinoa stomped her foot and glared that the back of her brother's head, "Because I heard it loud and clear, you know!" He continued his strode into his office, looked back, made her a teasing face and shut the door.

"WELL, YOU CAN fire a gun." Caraway complimented, observing the neat holes the bullets had left in the shooting targets he had set up previously, "Good. You've done this before." He waited for Squall's nod of confirmation and then continued, "How would you like to work for me?"

Squall considered the offer very carefully and finally he replied coolly, "I like to work for money."

"Then you'll like to working for me." Caraway smirked and took the weapon away, "Now the question of truth, kid, can I trust you?"

"Well sir, I thought you could answer that question on your own. You, the politician who dared reveal his identity to a guy you didn't even know and had the balls to show me a warehouse set up for testing the minions that work for you when you're playing Godfather in the decaying city of Deling." Squall finished the sentence in one breath, "I believe the question is yours to answer … can you trust me?"

Caraway paused, scrutinizing the younger man with an expert recruiter's eye, "Yeah, you're good. I can tell." In truth, he had no idea but what had he to lose? A kid, about mid-twenties, he knew how to play the gun and he wasn't the type with an irritating personality. The politician had worked with worse, 'sorry excuses' for henchmen, what could it hurt to affiliate himself with an honest looking guy? The worst Squall could do was betray him, and all that would be left to do is kill him.

His years were already counted, the last remaining sands of time trickling down quickly. There was nothing left of his aspiring career, nothing left of his family and nothing left of his life. "Welcome to the ranks of the gods, Squall Leonhart. We're going to start shaking things up in this city."

Squall looked slightly taken aback, "Pardon?"

Caraway put away the gun and shut the cabinet, taking a long pause before answering his new crony, "You heard me. Deling is a city with many faces. During the day it's a renowned business court where entrepreneurs gamble their stakes, where the stock market plays elevator, where politicians screw, where money is invested. The night sweeps over an entirely different façade where the city reveals itself. A place where every civilians' hands are stained with crimson blood, where everyone is an equal, where the gun plays God, where money is won and lost … the Devil's playground." 

The handyman remained quiet for a few moments and then spoke up slowly, "It's an interesting analogy, once again … you're good at making these things up."

The politician smirked and crudely laughed as if he were speaking to an ignorant child, "No, no, Squall … it's not an analogy. This isn't a story of compare and contrast. Deling city is the Devil's playground, next door to Hell and home of Lucifer's worst minions. A playground where shoving, punching … _killing_ is allowed. And guess what, Squall? It's the twenty-first century … signaling the school bell to go off. It's recess. Are you ready to play _dodge ball_?"

SEIFER ALMASY LEISURELY sat in his leather office chair, closing his eyes in an attempt to relax and take a breather. The day had gone by relatively fast, probably because he scarcely had a minute to himself. His secretary kept firing phone calls at him, appointments, renewed schedules, meetings and the list went on.

He needed to concentrate on his plan now, "Damn, things are moving along too slowly. This isn't good. Who the hell is Quistis' hit man? According to her, he's amazing. Can't exactly trust the dumb broad's intuition though. I need to meet him as soon as possible or else everything will fall to water. No … what I need most of all is Rinoa Heartilly's past. She wasn't born under that name … I'm positive. The experts told me so … who the hell is she? What's she got to hide? Uncovering that will definitely highlight some weaknesses."

"What I need to find is some dirty scum who'll dig around for cheap money. This is the city of Deling … it can't be that hard to find, right?" His thoughts were interrupted as someone opened the double doors leading into the office, "Hey, what's up?" Seifer's emerald eyes gazed up at the newcomer.

His younger brother, mirror image of Seifer himself except for the longer hair, snorted in disgust and waved away the idle chitchat, "I'm sick of waiting. When's the deal going down? When's Diabolos and Quistis getting here, when's the meeting starting, _when_?" Cain was getting impatient. He lusted to be part of this too, why was his older brother always sending him out to do unimportant errands?

Seifer laughed and shook his head, "Cain, they're my associates, not yours. Mind your own business, little brother. I told you, I need you but not in the council room. I need you out there, buddy, in the streets. Here's a quick job you could do for me. I need to find out Heartilly's past. Go out and dig up whatever you can, alright?"

Cain growled and clenched his fists, "Who the hell do you think I am? Your personal servant?! Seifer, I'm sick of these stupid chores you send me out to do, let me into the action! I'm dying to be a player, man!"

Seifer chuckled, "Patience, Cain, patience. I promised you again and again, and I promise you once more … when I'm the Zeus around this city, you'll be my second in command. You can be Poseidon … or Hades. Both, maybe … whichever you prefer. Is that good enough for you?" The last few sentences had been tainted with unnecessary sarcasm. 

The younger brother grimaced, turned on his heel and exited the office with a few choice words, "I'll have your stupid history lesson by the end of the week. I know the best eaves-dropper around … he's got loads of useless shit."

Cain shut the door behind him a little harder than a calm person would have and strode down to the elevators. He was sick of being a little errand boy. He would have his part in this. He _would _take part in this takeover. On pain of death he would become the one, the only God of Deling.

* * *

Author's Notes: Hey, don't get lazy with the reviews now!! I'm on summer break so maybe I can update a couple more times but I won't unless you people review! I'll even make it easier for you lazy ones ... just grade my story like so, you only have to type in a godforsaken letter!

a) Woohoo, I loved it.

b) It was fair.

c) Honestly, it was mediocre.

d) YOU SUCK! You deserve to be thrown in a burlap bag doused with gasoline and then set aflame!

Now isn't that such a well developped system? If you're too lazy to review with this 'comment by letter' legend then you must be one lazy fuck ... no I will not take that back, this is a 3,900 word chapter and I wrote it on my fucking own. (I'm a little edgy, if you haven't all noticed.)


	12. Jackpot

**Jackpot**

****

Nicholas was at home, a bachelor's pad, naturally sipping a beer and watching a college football game. He lusted to be out there on the field with the other players who were about his age. But here he was, a runaway, a hit man, a henchman for various different gangs and rejected by the most beautiful woman of Deling on the account that he was 'just a boy'. So he parked his rear on the sofa, stuffed his face with cheesy puffs and drank beer, brooding over his broken ego.

Little Nick, about thirteen years of age had been thrown out of his home in Timber by his stepfather. After a rather violent argument with his mother, Dan, the sad replacement for his deceased father, had hit the woman with such vigor that she had fallen in a desolate corner of the kitchen, sobbingly clutching her bruised face. Her son had retaliated by throwing all his weight into one punch that was simply absorbed by the older man's developed muscles.

Not strong enough, he was only a boy. In a drunken, slurring rage, Dan had picked up Nick by the scruff of his shirt and tossed him out into the rain, bellowing that if he ever set foot in the house again, his head would be severed from his body and fed to the starving dogs. Taking that threat seriously, he had searched his pockets to pay for one train fare to the city of opportunities … Deling.

The first few months had been harsh. Begging on the street was neither profiting, nor secure but he had survived, toughened up and gotten his first actual job. Barely a man, fourteen and getting a weekly pay from the docks where shipments had to be unloaded was quite an accomplishment for him. It was then that he had moved up a notch, associating with people who knew of the secrets locked within the stroke of midnight.

He had acquainted himself with people that paid illegal money for illegal things. Blood had made its mark on his untrained hands by the age of fifteen. It was easy working for those people, easy pretending to be a tough guy. You curse, slur, drink and smirk like them and they make you part of the club, just like that. Then they shower you with money for killing people, some looking identical to the Dan he left with his mother back in Timber. It was so easy.

He was out of the slums by now, living in a small apartment in the industrial sector. Not the most pleasant of places, but it was a roof over his head and three meals a day. What more could he ask for? In this city, you were untouchable if you carried a gun or a switchblade, if you knew how to talk and walk like a tough guy, if you knew how to suppress all silly emotions (like love) and all those things were achieved with relative ease, especially when you were a 'natural'. 

What was even easier was tricking the gangs. Most were too infatuated with territory and cocaine that it was a breeze to work for two or three at a time to double, or triple your normal wages. You learnt every secret ever whispered in the accursed city, you knew when a war was going to break loose, you learnt when to make yourself scarce. He became an undetectable chameleon in the shadowy alleyways playing the amused catalyst.

Though Rinoa Heartilly wasn't as stupid as the rest. She knew how to figure things out; there was something besides her beauty that gave her an omnipresent status. It was remarkable how she had seen through him like a polished windowpane. How had she known of his discreet association with DeGracia? It was mere sorcery to him … how had she found out that DeGracia had known of their little meeting on the top parking lot floor in front of the casinos?

Perhaps DeGracia had called her to warn her … but the two had nothing to do with each other. Rinoa Heartilly … Antonio Massimo DeGracia … what the hell? Had Rinoa suddenly grown an Italian background? She looked nothing of it. Her porcelain skin was not the olive tint that was a marking point from the nationality.

This may have been why she had rejected him so badly, she had picked up on the hints that he had been a turncoat. But she could make him swear an oath of loyalty and servitude to her in less than a minute. A goddess in every aspect, it was incredible and he had never seen anything like it. Rinoa was the image of control, in his eyes. Her brother Irvine wasn't something to be reckoned with, though, "Just what is up that guy's ass?" Nick rubbed his eyes tiredly.

There was a rapt of knuckles at the door that made him jump out of his thoughts. It took a while to recollect the broken pieces of his strength and pull himself off the couch to open the door in sleepy, drunken gestures, "What do you want?" He groaned and rubbed his eyes furiously as though they were failing him.

"I need you to find me a hobo that'll recite Heartilly's past, word for word." Cain was let into the messy bachelor's pad and he immediately made himself at home by stalking to the couch and dropping his weight to one side, "Nice snacks you got out." He grabbed the bowl of cheesy puffs and began propping them into his mouth.

Nick joined him and sat down on the other side, "Rinoa Heartilly's got a murky past and I don't even think I could figure that woman out. She's … just … I don't think she'd let a _hobo_ in on any information that could project a diluted image of her." He suppressed a faint shrug and sighed instead, "Why?"

Cain licked the tips of his fingers from the powder cheese, "My brother. Being a real prick lately but you don't understand how much I need the dough flowing into the friggin' newspaper building. It's goddamn mind numbing. I'm getting real sick, real fast though … Christ, you don't know how he tosses me out of the good deals … you don't know how much he treats me like a freaking kid."

They were both the same, in one way or another. One neglected by his older brother, incapable of assisting to the real business meetings, the other rejected by a woman he was attracted too, too boyish to satisfy her in bed. Both judged too young. "Yup, life's a bitch, isn't it?" Nick grabbed his bottle of beer and let the golden drink run down the back of his throat, "Want a cold one?"

Cain shrugged, "Hell, why not?" On that note, platinum-haired Nick trotted to the fridge and fetched his buddy a drink, "You know, I'm thinking of just … shoving the big brother aside and taking this city myself … you and me, what do you say to that?" The two boys laughed genuinely at Cain's comment, setting it as a complete joke.

"Wouldn't that be sweet? By day, two innocent men lounging in luxurious suites at five star hotels but in their minds, diabolical plans forming. They thirstily wait for the stroke of night. When the darkness of the silver moon settles, they lunge out, drinking, smoking, toking, fucking, ruling the entire damn city. When the night recedes, they slink back into obscurity." Nick spoke richly with a tone of absorbing suspense.

"Drugs, alcohol, women … murder, protection, whatever. We'd take over everything, we'd be the kings of this cursed city, man … wouldn't that just be …" Cain smirked, not ending his sentence due to lack of vocabulary.

Luckily, Nick finished off with a harsh, pessimist attitude, "Implausible." He looked at his friend a smirked wryly, "Forget it, buddy, quit dreaming and filling me up with your false hopes. They're hard to shit out, you know." 

Cain was silent for a moment, as though Nicholas has struck a blow that winded him. His emerald-hued eyes seemed to be deep and pensive and his friend guessed a plan was hatching, ever so delicately in his foolish, juvenile mind. Finally he spoke slowly but confidently, "We could do it, you know. You and I. We know these intercrossing streets … every corner, every store, every damn person who's somebody out there … we've got what it takes, man …"

The silver-haired one laughed and took another sip of his drink, "Damn, what the hell are you on, Cain? Each time you come to my place, you're either finely drunk or stoned. Plus, you've got these whacked-out ideas." He shook his head and chuckled some more at his friend's preposterous idea.

"I'm not doped up!" Cain defended himself sourly, "You asshole, don't you have any remote confidence in me whatsoever? Damn it, Nick, I'm telling you we could do it. Name me a street I don't know, I'll name you a corner you've never been on, if there is one. We know the way things work out here, we've been through this shit … we've got damn battle wounds from turf wars, and we've seen what goes on inside the criminal empires. We've learnt it all buddy, we know everything." He looked at his friend eagerly, as if waiting for a positive response.

His response was a shake of the head and two words, "Quit dreaming."

Cain, frustrated, kicked the coffee table making it jerk forward, "Shit, you're never with me when it counts! I'm telling you we could do this … not with the snap of our fingers, but we can do this! You're being a damn coward! Come on, we can take this damn city for our own … think about it, we'll be the authorities, we'll make the rules, we'll break them too and we'll have everything we've ever wanted."

_… Everything we've ever wanted … everything._ The words rang in Nick's head like a chanted mantra until his mind formulated illusions to make him believe it, "No, not alone." He finally spoke up shortly, "We need … we need one more man." Nick grinned crookedly at his new business partner, "And I think I got him too."

Cain slapped his friend on the back amicably, "I knew you were with me."

His buddy nodded and changed the subject, "Now about Heartilly …"

ELLONE'S WEARY MIND lacked the patience and energy to deal with the disjunction of thoughts so she sleepily watched television to lead them astray. The news was depressing, the soap operas were corny, the porn was raunchy and the comedies were far from hilarious but she was in an accepting mood.

Her 'dearest' brother was supposed to phone any minute now but she doubt he remembered, or worse, he could be doing this purposely. Squall had promised to drop a line this evening to further discuss his murky plans that he had failed to divulge to her last time. If he needed her help so badly, then perhaps he should have started by explaining to her the part that she was responsible for.

Sometimes he made her so damn angry.

Stubborn, cursed with mood swings, rough, aggressive … and now that she thought of it, "What the hell does Rinoa see in him anyways. You'd think a refined type like herself, raised in mansions with maids and elegant suitors would never even deem Squall Leonhart worthy of shining her shoes. Yet she falls flat on her face, in love and not knowing how to handle it. She's … not like anyone I've ever met before."

It was undeniable; Rinoa was like a little sister to her, a little baby girl that she had taken under her wing. Squall had reluctantly introduced his girlfriend to his sister two months after 'dating'. Rinoa was simplistic and outgoing, the two only characteristics one required to gain Ellone's respect. It didn't take long to become friends with such a person.

Rinoa's brother, however, was not at all like her. Ellone's face slide into a frown, "Complete asshole from the depths of Hell, I'll shoot myself in the ass before I touch him without disdain again." Suddenly, she became quite furious both at herself and her old lover, "I should have seen right through him, Mr. Hotpants … the damn _bastard_, what the hell was I thinking?"

She had never quite gotten over 'that' love affair yet, even though it had been over a year since she had left Irvine. Their relationship hadn't lasted very long, only a month but it had been the most incredible month of her life. He had fed her a false hope that had left her crushed, hopeless and terribly angry.

She shut her eyes tightly, blocking the memory. It was just too painful … more painful than she would ever admit.

SQUALL ARRIVED AT his apartment several hours after being hired by Caraway, alias DeGracia. The old man had given him his business card and instructed him to call tomorrow as they were on the brink of hatching a plan. "A stupid, risky undertaking." He had described it as and he continued muttering unhappily about how he didn't know why he was going through with it.

The young man tossed his black denim jacket on the couch, startling the little kitten that had been resting there. He flicked the lights on, reached for the television remote and watched 15 minutes of news, "Man, this world is so fucked up." He thought solemnly as a picture of a young 13 year-old boy accused of brutally murdering his mother and father with an axe danced across the television screen, "That could've been me, God knows I had the motivation." He sighed and rubbed his sore eyelids.

His heavy arm reached for the phone on the end table and he sleepily composed Ellone's number, "Hello?" A feminine voice answered anxiously.

"Hey Ellone … it's Squall." He replied, scratching his temple exhaustedly, "I'm going to take out Diabolos. He's Trepe's underdog that fetches her newspaper. They're small so the police shouldn't have too trouble with their investigation to prove the big boss guilty of prostitution, drugs and whatnot. Ok, so … publish the article in your newspaper … let's say next week. I'll highlight a list of things for you to include your article later … in the meantime, do you know what bank Rinoa's with?"

"Yeah … wait … why?" Ellone's confusion was submerging her general tone of voice.

Squall yawned before continuing on, "Because … tell me." 

"She's with the Royal Deling bank … with what other bank would she be with? It's Rinoa, remember?" Ellone sighed, still wondering where this was going.

"Shit, still? … She knows exactly what she's doing, doesn't she?" A spark of admiration lit inside of him and he couldn't help a small smile, "Well, she's done a magnificent job of making things harder for me. You're thrown out of there if you don't own a damn Rolex watch …" He sighed, "How … how is she?" Squall reluctantly let his worry win over. Ellone grinned in sweet triumph, "Desperate." He remained silent at the other end, "Y'know, Irvine won't tell me and she's certainly pro at hiding it but she's slipping further and further into an unreachable vortex and the worst part is that you don't even know why. You don't know the pain you caused her. That's what bugs me, Squall … you think she's a bitch, a whore … a turncoat but you never even thought about why she did this. Maybe it wasn't just her, Squall … maybe it was you too." 

"Don't fucking bother, Ellone." His voice was raspy but so cold and curt, "I don't need the extra guilt trip … and this is why I'm doing all of this, remember? I'm trying to figure out why she did this to me, if I was part of the problem and whatever. Is that satisfying enough for your Majesty?"

She sighed on the other end and her voice softened, "Squall … unless you … she's not just going to tell you why just like that. Her reasons … are painful. You have to gain her trust again, remind her she's still in love with you. I'm not saying everything's your fault but you need to try and understand her, and let her to understand you. Please … try?" 

He didn't reply, instead he merely grunted and remained silent for many minutes that seemed like eternities for Ellone, "Whatever. Bye." He finally snapped and hung up tersely and glared at his television screen that was still avid and lively with sport results. In the two decades that he had survived never had he been so confused, so emotionally struck, so lost and so damn angry at himself and at a woman. Never had he even imagined he would fall in love so hard that he would end up bleeding and bruised.

What the hell had she managed to do to him? What the hell had he managed to do to her? 

In the last few weeks that he had been with her, she was different. Solemn, grave and serious, as if she had attended funerals daily. He hadn't understood it, immediately assuming that she was nervous about the 'plan'. But … had he subconsciously hurt her to an extent where she began to plot against his life, turning their plan into his demise? "Goddamn …" He cursed his moment of weakness and ran his hands through his light brown hair, "Rinoa, what did I do?"

NICK SEARCHED FAR and wide in the city of Deling. If he believed the birth records, Rinoa Heartilly was a simple figment of his imagination, a mystifying shadow that had danced across the walls of his mind. But he knew better, he knew for a fact that he had not fallen in love with and been rejected by an illusion.

So that left him with one conclusion, 'Rinoa Heartilly' had never really 'been'. The demigoddess was someone else. He began searching for every damn woman in Deling city who had been given the first name 'Rinoa' and who was around twenty years of age.

He was blessed with luck that day. In fact, he was doubly blessed and should have serenaded Julia Heartilly for coming up with such a unique name for her daughter. There were five 'Rinoa's living in Deling, three out of those five were either toddlers or pre-teens. One was a sixty-year old grandmother living alone in the outskirts of the city.

And the remaining one, well … she matched the profile. Bonus? Her deceased mother was named 'Julia Heartilly'. Nick smirked at his new findings. Rinoa _Caraway _had been born on March 3rd; her proud parents were Julia Heartilly, an old piano player and singer in the Deling City hotel and James Caraway, the renowned and widely hated politician. Since Julia Heartilly had a death date on her profile, he proceeded to checking 'James Caraway'.

Upon skimming the file of the politician, the young man discovered that James David Caraway II had remarried, shortly after his first wife's death, to a Linda Kinneas. Another smirk tickled his lips as he searched up her file, bound it to the three others he had collected and shut the drawer of the filing cabinet. He exited the white room that was basically a reference library of the citizens of Deling.

Once back in the mayor's secretary's office, he declared to his associate, "Done."

Cain, who had a pistol cocked at the secretary's head, gave a swift nod of his head and returned to his captive, "Baby, I'm sorry … but we needed to start somewhere. Let the body count begin." The silencer muted the shot, but it did not stop the blood from painting the wall behind the victim, "Let's bring on the bloodshed." 

Next target: Linda Kinneas.

IT WAS EARLY next morning when Squall dressed himself with a suit, much to his displeasure. Before leaving his apartment, he took one last glance at himself in the mirror and grimaced. "I look like a goddamn geek." He said to himself contemptuously. But he was obviously being too harsh on himself because the clean-shaven man that stared back at him in the mirror was obviously nothing short of an Adonis.

From his polished shoes and ironed black dress pants to his white shirt, buttoned and tucked was the emblem of perfection. His tie was loosely knotted around his neck, letting his top two buttons undone and his black jacket fell perfectly on his broad shoulders. A passable gentlemen, though he didn't know it himself.

He also ignored the fact that if Rinoa had seen him, she may not have been able to help herself. Though it was probably best that this knowledge was covered and out of Squall's wanting mind.

The young gentleman drove his BMW to the Royal Deling bank that was located in the heart of the city. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Squall passed through the gold-framed rotating doors like he had done so many times with Rinoa and entered the building. Nothing much had changed. The tellers were all at their positions, like soldiers in the army and this was basically what it was … they were all taught that perfection wasn't a goal, it was an expectation. The floor and half the walls were polished marble, as were the tellers' desks. A large chandelier loomed down from the cathedral ceiling, giving the large room a golden hue. 

A bronze elevator was seen in the back. It led to stock trading floors and other such complicated business transactions. His tasks weren't complicated enough for that yet. What he was here to do was quite simple.

Squall went up to a free teller and began stating his affairs, "I'm here to make a transfer. It's a large sum of money, perhaps we can take care of this in a private office?"

The teller nodded and called up a manager. The man in a gray pinstripe suit showed Squall into a private office and sat down across from him, "How may we help you today, Mister … ?" He let his sentence trailed, a signal for Squall to complete it.

"Squall Leonhart. I'm here to make a transfer from Rinoa Heartilly's account to my own." The manager stared at him blankly as if he were crazy, "She's a friend of mine and if you feel it necessary I can validate my authorization to her account."

"Very good, sir." The manager nodded and went to his computer, "Rinoa Heartilly, you said?" He typed the name in and opened the account, "Ah yes, alright … you must enter her ten digit code." Squall picked up a hand-held machine from the corner of the desk and looked at it, almost as if having second thoughts.

He mentally begged to God, of which he normally wouldn't have believed in, "Please, please, please let this work or else my ass will be hauled back to jail." His fingers skimmed the number keys and finally he uncertainly pressed down twice on the 7, then the 5, followed by the 3 until he had in all inputted 7-7-5-3-6-6-4-2-7-8. When he was done he was assured that this would never work and that he would be thrown back in the place where he would eventually rot and die - prison.

A chime validated the combination of numbers and he tried not to look as if it was the biggest surprise of his life, though it near well was. The pin number had worked … he smiled self-consciously and a feeling of relief, as well as pure flattery washed over him. If the numbers corresponded to letters on a telephone dial, he could have spelt out 'sqleonhart'.

The bank manager too, seemed slightly surprised, "Alright, sir … what is that you wish to do again? Ah … a … transfer of funds. To which account?" 

Squall grabbed a piece of paper and jotted down a long slew of numbers, "That's my account number. Transfer the funds there."

The older man nodded and took the paper from Squall's hands, "Alright sir …" 

"How much is there in the account?"

The bank manager stared, dumbfounded, at his screen, "Eleven million, roughly, sir." Squall smirked in a pensive way but did not reply right away. Finally, the manager lost his nerve, "How much do I transfer?" 

"All of it."

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: Yeah, Squall's one big badass, huh? So, ten bucks says Rinoa castrates him. Hah, no, I'm joking, I'd never do that to Squall … or Rinoa for that matter. I love to toy with these characters, does that make me evil?**

**Ok, so … once again, for the lazy people:**

**a) I loved it**

**b) Quite good**

**c) Nothing special - needing work**

**d) Burn, baby, burn!**

**And, for the wonderful people who I love with all my heart (aka: those who can write beyond helpful reviews) … please do not hesitate to add anything you would like to. **

**I would also like to know your social insurance number, credit card nip, your age, your address, your gender, your dog's name, how much Kleenex you use a day and your position on anorexia and breast implants.**

**Warning Note: THIS PLOT IS INSANE, TELL THE PEOPLE!**

**For those of you who are still reading … you must really like me. I don't think anyone has ever withstood my bullshit for this long. Since you love me, why don't you tell your friends of this story so they can review too?**


	13. Dawn of the Eclipse

**Dawn Of The Eclipse**

****

Irvine was having a very difficult time trying to suppress all the negative emotions bubbling within his insides. He needed to confess to someone and if this kept on, he would take any random hobo from the streets and recount his entire life. The tallish western-looking man had never felt so desperate to seek someone's council, or simply to know they were listening.

He had attempted to reach Rinoa at several occasions, to no avail. The girl neither answered her cellphone or her home phone, which sent him into a state of panic at the possibilities. She could be having a coffee, which isn't all that bad but she could also be on the edge of the roof of a ten story high building and this would induce unnecessary complications.

Of course, paranoia plagued him to the core and he began to believe he would die of worry for his younger and very frail sister. It was all built-up inside of him and was ready to explode; her unbalanced life, her unremitting love for Squall Leonhart, her tragic fall into the vortex that was consuming her soul entirely, her eventual destruction. These curses that he agonized over were all jumbled with his own issues; his failed love affair with Ellone, his step-father's expectancy to report everyone of Rinoa's move, the silence that had infected the relationship between he and his mother. 

Against his better judgment, he did not stop his arm from extending to reach the phone and dialing his mother's cellphone number. Linda Kinneas had loved her son, dearly, and had promised him that her ear would always be tuned to hear what he had to confess and this is what he was now putting his faith into.

"Hello?" A weary woman voice answered.

There are certain parts of a man that forever remain a boy. When Irvine heard the soothing voice of his mother, he collapsed under the strain that he had been bearing, "Hi mom." He managed to wheeze out.

Linda, now on a train home from Timber, had to smile gratefully, "Hello Irvine." She had needed to hear from him, just to know that a little part of her was still alive out there, in this terrifying world, "How're you?" 

"I need to … talk."

"And I'm here to listen."

And so a tidal wave of regrets, anger, and fears collided down with the force of a tsunami. Linda, with patient ears, listened compassionately to her son's troubles. "And then there's Rinoa, holy shit, I can't reach her anymore, I can't help her and I don't know what will. I need to find something, someone … I can't see her like this anymore." 

His mother clutched her communicating instrument a little harder and her lips pinched together tightly, "Oh really …" It wasn't meant to come out as a drawl, but fortunately, Irvine was too anguished to notice.

"She … and don't tell any of this to James, she's … just … fallen for this … asshole. Ok, fine, he's never really done anything to me but … he's hurting her. And she's hurting him and I just don't get them." His mother cut him short, demanding him to begin with the beginning. So he did and by the end of half and hour, Linda Kinneas knew Rinoa and Squall's relationship from A to Z.

It surprised Linda that a little monstrosity like Rinoa could ever really love, and it shocked her that something like her could be dependant. With _every_ intention of repeating the entire story to her husband, she bade Irvine good-bye, "I love you, honey, but my train just arrived at the station. Call me more often."

Irvine solemnly said his adieus, "Thanks, and I'm sorry for all this. I hope I'll speak to you soon. I love you." They were the last words he ever said to his mother. 

SQUALL WALKED OUT of the bank eleven million dollars richer, though this was only a temporary situation. He guessed Rinoa would most likely discover his trespassing into her account in a very unpleasant way and she would then proceed to attempt to find him so she may sterilize him in the most painful way possible. It was the last part that he feared most because he had seen her in frustrated to a blind rage and it was nothing to be reckoned with.

As he walked away from the bank, he noticed the change of scenery. The alleys became more frequent, darker. There were more homeless, leaning against buildings with their paper cups and plastic bags, begging for a quarter, a nickel, a dime. Some sat, cross-legged, and played a plastic recorder. The notes were unrecognizable but it didn't matter when you were a starving degenerate.

Dogs lay limply at their sides, their only companions in this unjust world. Even the animals were starving, their fur matted and sucked onto their ribcage. Some were out of their goddamn minds, muttering to themselves and swearing at pedestrians who weren't generous enough in their donations.

A young girl, about fifteen, dressed in scanty clothing entered a stripping bar. He felt a sudden gutting urge to stop her, to give her the money she needed to pay studies, food, a home, whatever. A saddened expression crossed Squall's face when he saw the bouncer smirk and pass her a baggie of cocaine, very subtly.

This city had a malevolent curse upon its head. Neither he, nor his money could counter that. No magic was as strong as the forces of corruption within man's soul.

Squall walked back to his car, feeling something he had never remembered feeling before. Compassion. Helplessness. Powerless. No, actually, now that he thought about it, it was a very familiar feeling. The want, the _need _for _her_. 

SEIFER WAS PAYING a visit to his sickly father in the family home, just as Squall was contemplating downtown Deling. The strawberry-blonde president of the Daily Post newspaper was visibly nervous, even to the maids who knew him little. He preferred avoiding coming to the manor and only visited when pressing business needed to be discussed.

Alphonsus, the head butler, came to him in the sitting room and beckoned him upstairs where his sickly father agreed to his presence, "He waits for you, sir."

The younger man reluctantly got up from his safe haven in the armchair and marched up the stairs and to the master bedroom like a fearful cadet in training. The founder of everything Seifer now owned was laying in bed, paler than the last time his son had seen him, "You worthless fool." The old, bad-tempered mossback coughed, "What's this stupid nonsense you've come to discuss now? My eyes may be bad but I can still distinguish the falling figures of this month's profits, you damn half-wit." 

"I'm sorry, father." Seifer lowered his head apologetically, "I promise that I'll bear better news for the company next time-"

"Don't insult me by calling me your father, beanpole!" The geezer roared and proceeded to a coughing fit.

Seifer immediately rushed to his father's side, "Don't … over exert yourself, father. You know you aren't well-" 

"Don't you dare touch me!" His glaring venom eyes pierced into Seifer's disheartened ones, "Don't tell me what to do." Mr. Almasy's voice was a mere growl but his son got the point and backed up from the bed, "I don't care what you're up too and you clearly do not need me to validate further actions that you will be taking. But let me tell you this, _son_, my greatest mistake was overlooking Cain in this whole ordeal. You, unmistakably, are going to send the company in ruins."

Seifer took a step back, as if winded. He bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling. The words had left a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. His voice became raspy and low, "I'm sorry."

"Why do you bother?" Mr. Almasy yowled, "I refuse to acknowledge you as my son, damn it, get out, failure!"

With a last glance, Seifer bolted out the room and out of the manor, quickly forgetting the tears he had nearly shed and replaced them with anger, contempt and thirst for blood.

AFTER HANGING UP with his mother, Irvine felt relieved but incredibly stupid and guilty for having betrayed Rinoa like that. He had literally divulged everything, including things that she didn't know he knew. Very personal, intimate things that she had only told Ellone and that, in turn, had been repeated to him.

If his ex-girlfriend found out what he had just done, he'd be as good as dead. If his sister found out what he had just done, she would shut down and self-destruct. Why had he blurted out all those things? Irvine rubbed his face with the palm of his hands, as if he had just wakened from a hazy slumber.

Putting aside his little blunder, he heaved himself from his chair and proceeded to exit the office for a quick lunch. His ear was hot from having the phone pressed to it for so long and he needed to stretch his legs for a bit.

Leaving the secretary in charge, he descended into the crowded streets of the city. Irvine strode a block and a half to a nice deli on the corner. He ordered a turkey sandwich with a hot soup and sat by the window, watching pedestrians walk by and carrying on with their regular daily business. 

He almost managed to forget about all the problems that buzzed in his head resiliently. By the end of his meal, he could smile again as a toddler waddled hurriedly trying to keep up with the longer strides of his mother. When the waiter came back with the bill, Irvine got up and went to the cash. He took out his bankcard and swiped it into the miniature ATM.

He composed his pin number, or rather, Rinoa's pin that she had chose for the company account way before he had even taken part in The Syndicate. Obviously, it was safe to say that he ignored the alphabetical worth of the numbers he punched in on the keypad.

"The transaction couldn't be completed." The waitress on cash duty replied, "Would you like to try again?"

Irvine shrugged; maybe he had made an error, "Sure." Though at the fifth try that yielded no results, his brow furrowed and he muttered a curse under his breath. His palms were beginning to get sweaty with nervousness, "I don't understand. Just a minute." 

The cashier seemed to frown down upon him and he blushed in embarrassment, "I have no liquid cash on me right now … just a minute. There's … got to be something wrong." He took his cellular phone from his jacket pocket and speed-dialed Rinoa's phone.

After two rings, she picked up, "Hello?"

"Rinoa, did you cut my freaking card?" His tone was nothing short of accusing.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, "No Irvine, I didn't cut your 'freaking card'. Why?" 

"Because I'm trying to pay with my lunch by using the company account and it won't go through. I don't have any money on me right now … just get to Simon's Deli and help me out, ok?"

Irvine didn't see her eyes rolling towards the heavens, "Ok … fine. Be there in two minutes."

She was true to her word. "You're probably screwing up." Rinoa snapped, very irritated at having been disturbed of her work. She took her own card, slid it in the machine and composed the pin, still to no avail. The waitress, whom was getting very irritated, attempted to clear up the murky problem, "It says there's insufficient funds." 

"HAH! I told you so." Irvine exclaimed and then his eyes went downcast in confusion, "Wait a minute, that doesn't make sense … my lunch cost twelve bucks, no more."

Rinoa pressed her knuckles to her lips, anxiously looking around. Finally, she reached in her purse, took out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Irvine, "I'm going to the bank."

"Wait, I'm coming with you." Irvine quickly handed the twenty to the cashier and waved away the change to chase after his stepsister, "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know." Rinoa's voice was quavering as she slipped into the driver's seat of her Porsche, "Probably something along the lines of eleven fucking million dollars disappearing!" Her tiny squeaks had manifested themselves in nervous shrieks.

Irvine buckled up in the passengers and didn't even have time to close his door properly before Rinoa had floored it. They sped downtown breaking all speed limit laws but being lucky enough to avoid patrolling police squads. 

The team practically ran up the bank's marble stairs, through the rotating doors and nearly colliding into an old woman, in their mad race to get to a teller immediately. "I need to know of the latest transactions in my account, where's your manager?" Rinoa managed in one breath.

Roughly three minutes later, they were sitting in the manager's office, Rinoa in something of a very foul mood at his explanation, "You see, miss, there was a young man who came in … very respectable looking, told me he was a friend of yours. He knew the account number, he knew the password and so, as a responsible employee of this bank, I was obliged to comply with his orders, which were to transfer all the funds to his own account." His speech and mannerisms were tense and skittish, "He … also had one of the valid signatures to complete a transfer." 

Rinoa was literally fuming, "So … you … let me see that signature!" He pushed an operation paper with the bank emblem as the heading. Rinoa's eyes scrolled down to the signature that clearly read 'Squall Leonhart', "I'm going to kill him!" She declared, bounding to her feet at once and slamming the paper down on the desk, "And you!" She pointed furiously at the bank manager, "Are going to take this signature and erase it from the archive, we will also meet at another time to discuss a new pin number and in the mean time, you better watch out for yourself in case I don't manage to retrieve my money!" With that she exited the room and the bank with quick, livid strides.

Irvine followed her, equally as enraged. When they were back out on the streets, he began bellowing ear-splittingly, "SO, YOUR LITTLE _BOYFRIEND _HACKED INTO _OUR _ACCOUNT AND STOLE _ALL _THE BLEEDING MONEY?! IS THIS THE MESSAGE I'M SUPPOSED TO RECEIVE?"

"SHUT UP!" Rinoa hollered back heatedly, "JUST SHUT UP!" They were causing a scene in the heart of the metropolitan and this was definitely not going unnoticed. Rinoa smoothed her anger over and replied back a bit more calm, "I will take care of this … and everything will function as it did before this little incident … ok?"

"YOU'LL TAKE CARE OF THIS? OH? OH OK! I FEEL SO MUCH FUCKING BETTER WITH YOU ON THE CASE!" Just because she had lowered her voice, it certainly didn't mean he was going to do the same, "SO, YOU'LL BE TAKING CARE OF THIS TRANSGRESSION HOW, JUST OUT OF CURIOSITY? WILL YOU BE KEEPING YOUR DIGNITY OR IS THIS JUST AN OCCASION TO JUMP DOWN HIS PANTS?" This caused a few more heads to turn in their general direction.

She didn't even bother to justify that with an answer. Or rather, she was afraid of what she might reply.

LINDA KINNEAS' ARRIVAL in Deling was very unceremoniously dealt with. Her husband had simply sent a limousine to pick her up at the train station and she was expecting no more than that. In fact, she'd be surprised if she arrived home and he wasn't even there to greet her.

Unfortunately, she did not realize that she would never make it back 'home' ever again. The enemy was at her tracks, and a lot closer than anyone anticipated. It had not been a procrastination for Nick and Cain to figure out where she would be, and when they found out, it didn't take them long to move into position.

When the driver opened the car door, she couldn't help remark how brilliantly green his eyes were. She smiled pleasantly. He was a new employee, perhaps. Cain proceeded to hauling her traveling suitcases in the trunk and then to taking his place in the driver's seat.

"Who are you?" Linda screeched as she saw the young man that was accompanying her in the backseat, "What are you doing here?" Her tone was of a nervous one, this had never happened before. What did he want?

Nick beamed in false comfort, "Don't worry, Mrs. Caraway, we won't harm you." The doors were locked and the car was driving. There was no escape, "We're just curious to know everything you know about Rinoa Heartilly Caraway."

A cold shiver ran down the woman's spine. A curl of sienna hair fell from her chic hairstyle onto her forehead. She briskly pushed it behind her ears and took a rattling breath, "Why?" Nick opened his arms as if to embrace her but he dropped them back limply onto the leather seat, "I think you can guess on your own. Your husband is a little harder to get a hold of … so we thought we'd intercept you before you sheltered yourself within impenetrable walls … so, back to the main topic." Linda spoke quickly and rashly, "I don't know much about her, I only know what I've been told." A malevolent smirk curled at Nick's lips, "And so, what have you been told?" 

RINOA QUICKLY DIALED Ellone's phone number as she was driving down an avenue. The journalist, who was working on an bleak article, answered after four rings, "Hello, Ellone speaking." She managed cheerfully.

"Give me your brother's cellphone or home number right now." She snapped impatiently.

"Wow … ok, hello to you too, Rinoa. I'm doing fine, thanks for asking, actually, I've been considering suicide because of this article that my boss ordered me to write but it's nice to know you're concerned, really. How're you?" Satire streaked Ellone's eloquent monologue.

"Cut the bullshit, Ellone, I'm serious!" Rinoa replied exasperatedly, "I need to speak to your brother immediately."

The other girl smirked, "Ahh, yes … I've foreseen this in my magic crystal ball of doom … heh heh heh …" Ellone sighed out a chuckle, "What did he do? Or rather, have you finally come to your senses and you need to organize a lovers' rendezvous?" 

"No, you asswad, he just emptied my goddamn account!"

There were moments of inconceivable silence until Ellone broke into it rudely with hysterical laughter, "I see nothing funny in this!" Rinoa hissed back.

"Oooh …" Ellone wheezed, out of breath, "That's … just …" She managed another giggle and finally spoke coherently, "Right … ok … I knew he was going to do something, I never thought it was going to be this … serious. So … right … his number. He just got a cellphone, actually … uhm … 892-4920. Try that and if that doesn't work, go for 635-8493 … that's his home phone number."

"Wait, Ellone, I'm in a damned car!" Rinoa protested to this rapid number spouting. She signaled for Irvine to get a piece of paper and a pen and then dictated the numbers to him slowly, as Ellone was repeating them on the other end. When it was all done, she thanked Ellone and bade her a series of goodbyes and promises to call after she was done killing Squall.

IT WAS AN hour later that Rinoa called her old lover and it was from her apartment that she dialed the number. After Irvine had been whisked from her home, she sunk herself into the couch and cautiously dialed his number. She was nervous, afraid … but quite excited at the same time to be able to hear his voice again. Of course, she denied this.

"Hello?" His course voice answered the cellphone, much too quickly for her to recollect from her thoughts. His voice was just so … so … seducing, even when it wasn't trying to be, "Hello?" He asked again, a little annoyed that this might be another kid without a social life making a prank phone call.

"Yeah, hi." Rinoa greeted numbly. She had to restrain her hand from slapping her forehead, 'Brilliant Rinoa, brilliant … now he thinks you suffer from Trisomy 21.' She thought critically to herself.

"Oh hey, what've you been up to lately?" Squall drawled snidely.

He made her knees buckle and the desire that she had suppressed for so long submerged in an explosive tidal wave of fire. She shut her eyes tightly. This wasn't the time. It wasn't the opportune moment to blurt out how much she was physically craving him. So, as an ideal defense mechanism, she decided to pick a fight with him, "Oh, nothing really interesting. Some ass-hat stole eleven million from my account. Other than that, everything's pretty much a-ok."

He genuinely laughed on the other line and she nearly melted, "Oh yeah?? Someone snatched eleven million from your grasp? Wow … he must be one amazing, clever guy."

Rinoa's eyebrow cocked up skeptically, "Do you need an ego-boost or something? Gee, Squall, you never struck me as an attention-whore." 

"Now, don't get me wrong, Rinoa." He warned unnecessarily, "I'm just stalling so this conversation doesn't turn into frighteningly serious waters."

"Too late." She announced snappishly, "What is it that you want from me?"

She could hear his smirk through his tone, "The question you should be asking is where can we meet." 

"I think we're both readily mature to solve this over the phone, don't you think?" Rinoa rebounded nervously. She didn't know what would happen if she were to meet him in person. Her desires were too strong and exposing them to him would only lead to more pain and weaknesses.

"No, actually, I'd really much rather we met in person." Squall imposed, knowing very well what was going through her mind. He knew she was apprehensive, and he knew the tone of voice she was using was a mere mask. It had once been part of a game they had played, though she seemed to have forgotten. Squall was well aware of what she _wanted _but would not _give_. Out of pride, out of independence? He wasn't really sure.

"Well, _I'd_ much rather take care of this over the phone." She pressed on, confirming Squall's hypothesis, "And since you've already screwed everything over for me, couldn't you bend to this little request?" Rinoa's tone was cynical but still uneasy.

"No." He answered curtly, "Since I've got eleven million dollars that I may not have the intention of giving back, you're going to come to me. Got that, sweetheart?"

"Kiss my ass!" She snarled harshly.

He satisfied her with an answer to her vulgarities, "I knew you'd see things my way."

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles:** **Hello again. I hope you liked the lucky chapter number thirteen (oooh, aaah). So, as you may have guessed, this is the last chapter before they actually meet after. I'm very sorry for the delay and stalling … but it had to be done. Speaking of stalling, I haven't written in a very, very long time. I'm running out of chapters to post … heh … heh …**

**So, once again, the retarded legend.**

**a) Whee, happiness is calling bingo! And this is bingo! Yay!**

**b) It was adequate to humor me for a short while.**

**c) Uhm … yeah …**

**d) I'll pay you $50 if you never write this crap again.**

**Now … I promise to post ANOTHER chapter WEDNESDAY (as in … TWO whole days before I'm supposed to) if I've got 21 reviews for this chapter. Yeah, 21 reviews for chapter 13 by WEDNESDAY and ohmigosh, I'll update faster. Aren't I the life of the party?**

**If you guys are feeling particularly nice, please go visit my friend's newly established webcomic CANADIAN BACON - www . freewebs . com / eatbacon (minus all the gay spaces in between) I'm featured as one of the main characters along with my other friends so have a look at the comics, join the forum and vote for us so we can be all popular and stuff. I would love you forever if you did. **


	14. Asthenia

**Asthenia**

****

They had agreed to meet in a quiet little bistro. It was a classy little restaurant on one of the main avenues of Deling. She sat at a round table on the mezzanine floor, away from the picture windows in the front of the stylish, comely place. Waiters in dark suits wandered with cabarets, bringing orders to the customers.

Rinoa had taken an especially long time in getting dressed to meet him and yet she still arrived before him. After hours of rummaging through her closet, she had chosen a short khaki skirt with a beige sweater. This was supposed to be simple and she didn't want to give him the pleasure of knowing she was trying to impress him, though she made sure to apply a smooth layer of 'sexy', so he would not think she was slowly passing her prime. Normally, twenty-five year olds wouldn't worry about such trivial matters unless they were trying to hook a young man to their heels, which was precisely what Rinoa Heartilly had in mind.

Her legs were crossed in case of prying eyes and she sat stiffly in her chair, scared as hell of everything that might happen within the next fifteen minutes. Rinoa fiddled with the edge of her napkin nervously anticipating the moment he'd walk through that door. The door that she had been staring at for the past ten minutes with unrelenting concentration.

Rinoa was boiling with anger and had an entire little speech lined up for her ex-boyfriend however, at the same time there was this untamable urge to run into the women's bathroom and hide in a stall, an unimaginable fear that settled deeply in the pit of her stomach and deregulated her system.

Rinoa pulled her gaze away from the entrance of the restaurant; it was only making her more edgy. She picked up the wine menu from the corner of the table and read through it as if it was of sudden interest to her. Her eyes ran across the different years, the different wineries, the different names of the beverages, all written in floury font on the thick, creamy paper.

"Hey." A rough, deep voice greeted and she was suddenly aware of a figure slinking into the chair in front of her. The realization that he was here sent a wave of shock sprinting through her body. Her head jerked up and when her cocoa eyes met his sapphire ones she knew this would be the end of her. There would be no way she would survive this meeting.

Rinoa closed the menu a little too quickly and shoved it aside. "Hello." She answered stiffly, unable to break her gaze from his. 'Ooh, nice, Rinoa, real smooth! Don't I feel like a million bucks now! I must look like a deer caught in the headlights. No, rephrase that, a deer caught in the headlights after smoking some good grass.' 

A waiter passed by, "Are you ready to order anything? Or do you need more time to look at the menu?"

Rinoa thanked the gods there was something else to look at, "Could I get a glass of water please?" The waiter nodded and looked to Squall who only shrugged and dismissed the server with a shake of his head. "I'll be back in just a minute."

Instead of looking back at her old lover, Rinoa decided that the tablecloth was a much safer choice. She could feel his eyes on her. He was here, he was real and if she wanted, she could reach out and touch him, though she doubted if he would like that very much. Her curious eyes wandered back to him, his rough knuckles that were resting on the table, his strong arms connecting to his broad shoulders, his strong chin, baby smooth cheeks, his lips. A sudden force of attraction whirled through her suddenly, 'Oh no … God, not now.' His scar running down his nose, accentuating up to his crystal blue eyes that were staring right into her own, 'Oh God, is he ever sexy.' She let out a small gasp.

"What the hell is going through your mind?" He asked snappishly. It had begun to creep him out. Her silence was awkward, and her staring made him very uncomfortable though he couldn't really say anything against. His eyes had been fixed on her as well.

Paranoia settled in. Could he read thoughts or something? Had she heard a tone of disgust at the edge of his voice, or was it really a genuine question? She would take a chance, a bubbling anger tearing the words from her throat, "What's going through my mind? Well, I was just thinking about grinding my heel right in your crotch so hard you'd sound like a fat, pregnant cow for the rest of your living days!" The words were forced through clenched teeth, but resonated very clearly.

And he had the nerve to smile though she found nothing funny in all of this, "You had the freaking balls to go into the account and retrieve every single penny! Thank the gods Irvine found out before me and that it was only a twelve dollar lunch because had this hit me after one of my shopping sprees, I'd probably wading in deeper shit than I am now. Thanks to your half-wit scheme, I've had to cancel all my imports, thus retarding my profits by several months! Thank you, asshole!"

She took a deep breath, fires of Mars burning in her eyes, "But that wasn't enough of a thrill for you, ruining my entire business I mean. What else did you do, Squall? Because I can see from that damn glint in your eyes that you've still got much to tell me. But first, please tell me … _WHY_ would you do such a thing?!" She realized by the end of her final sentence that she was practically on the verge of despair and tears.

A few faces turned towards her in the restaurant but quickly returned to their affairs. Squall shrugged and cleared his throat, "Well, you're right, that's not all I did." He admitted nonchalantly, "I spent $50,000 from the eleven million and placed a bet on eBay. If I remember correctly, it was for a nineteen-year-old girl's virginity. It was the most interesting thing I could find … it's amazing what you can come across on eBay."

"You did what?" She looked at him blankly in total disbelief, "Ok, no, stop! I'll pretend I didn't hear that." Rinoa closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, "So why is it that you're doing this? Quickly, I don't have that much time to waste." She was debating whether she should punch him in the face or yank him out of the chair and drag him to a hotel or her apartment (whichever was closer) to jump into his pants.

"I got your attention, didn't I?" He asked the rhetorical question passively and paused as the waiter deposited Rinoa's glass of water. She murmured a quick 'thank you' and began drinking as if she had been wandering the desert for weeks. Watching her go, he seemed amazed at how much fluids she was downing. Squall decided to ignore it for now, and find out more later, "I think I deserve answers … you've left me, plagued with thousands of little annoying questions, Rinoa and I shouldn't have to jump through hoops like this for them to be answered."

"Bite me!" She snapped, setting down her half-empty glass of water, "I've always wondered the meaning of life, doesn't mean God's going to strut down into Deling anytime soon to explain it to me! I don't know of the little questions swarming in your little head and frankly, I don't see why I'm the one who has to answer them." Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming sense of relief, a feeling that maybe nothing had changed at all. They were still the same. She was vehemently speaking, venting to him just like in the old days, when torrents of wild moods enveloped her.

He gawked at her incredulously. Rinoa Heartilly was still as feisty as ever, despite her obvious discomfort to his presence. Her features were still those of a goddess, her fine porcelain skin was flawless, her lashes were long and her cocoa eyes withheld the deepest secrets of the dingy streets and of the golden palaces. Her silken, raven hair curved around the edges of her face, falling to her shoulders and her lips … were just as desirable as ever, even more so.

Squall felt his body weaken, his tongue felt flimsy and without strength in his mouth. His fists relaxed and his legs turned mushy so he couldn't escape even if he tried, and God knew he wouldn't. "You're the one who has to answer them, because you're the only one who can." He said the words slowly, his eyes feasting on her, making up for what he couldn't touch right now. He was being submerged in beauty, this was simply too magnificent.

Her attitude changed suddenly, a sly smirk appeared on her face as if she had screwed her courage to the sticking spot. She knew how to negotiate with him, in the end, she had always known, "Interviews are a difficult thing to accord, baby, especially to evil little pricks who screw around with bank accounts. However, I've found a way you can perhaps make it up to me. For one you could … remove your bid on the young girl's virginity and give the money back to whom it belongs, that which is me. Second of all, I've got some business to take care of in a forbidden section of city … you could be the transmitter. Then, I'll answer all the little questions that infect that little male brain of yours. Do we have a deal?" Her pitch had something sensual about it, enticingly inviting, no matter if he would gain or lose.

But Squall would not crumble so easily, "No, that's bullshit, sweetheart, and you know it. Interviews are difficult to accord because of that mule that you call a secretary. You practically need to give her your social insurance number for her to jot you down in that precious agenda of yours. However, if _we_ drive to that office of yours, and I _force _your hand to write me up an appointment as a favor for giving you _my _portion of the stolen money from that Estharian bank, some time ago after you shot me in the shoulder, then I wouldn't have to be your little _transmitter_ and you could just _be screwed._"

"No, see … I don't like that idea. Anyway, I gave you back the money I owed _you_." Rinoa replied casually, taking another controlled sip of her water, "I like my plan better." Against her better judgment, she began to gulp without signs of moderation.

He simply stared and then commented harshly, "The way you're lapping that up now, you'll be pissing a river later." 

Though the comment was provoking at first, she found it hard not to laugh, "How is that your problem? I'm thirsty. When we _were _together, I never told you that you'd eventually sprain your elbow by jacking off constantly."

"I didn't sprain my elbow that way, damn it!" He debated heatedly and then managed to pool his cool together again, "I didn't jack off, Rin, I had you." The remark was meant to sting, if only for a short while. It was a quick cigarette ember burning into her palm to test her endurance, or simply to bully her onto a lower pedestal.

"Oh, nice shot in the heart, there." The arrow had plunged deeply into its target, and she felt no shame in admitting it, though he had shame in saying it, "I think we're wandering on a rather sensitive territory riddled with mines. Would you mind stepping off the private property?" She rather he think her embarrassed of the subject, rather than discover the deepest desires he had been stimulating for that past fifteen minutes.

Somehow, he wished he could have taken that comment back. She had never been a mere sex toy for him, and he felt guilty in indulging in lies to come back with some witty comeback, though _she_ had begun this deluded battle, he had been the provocateur. He had trapped the lioness in the corner and forced her to use immature tactics.

Since his silence unnerved her, she decided to take the conversation at hand, "I'm not bullshitting you. You do what I told you, and I'll answer your questions. Whatever they may be, though I can predict their stupidity just by this conversation we're having. Remove the bid, give the money back to me, give Viktor Lynch my card and I'll get back to you."

Squall laughed snidely, "What makes you think that Viktor Lynch would want to have _anything _to do with you? He didn't like you a while ago; I don't think you've given him time to change his mind. And it seems that the number of task appropriated isn't very even." 

"I'll take care of my own business with Viktor Lynch, it doesn't concern you … _at all_, just do as I say. And the tasks? I think I have the right to distribute the chores of the deal. If you really want those answers, Squally, you _will _have to jump through hoops for them." She got up from her chair with the same elegance that she had always possessed, a gift from her mother.

He watched her rise, in her sublimely superior beauty, and couldn't bite back the words that instantly fell off his tongue, "I told you that you'd need to piss sooner or later."

She rolled her eyes, picked up her purse and looked down upon him, "I'm not going to the bathroom, Squall … I'm going home. Bye." 

"Yeah … I'll, uh … _see you around_." He called after her, knowing she wouldn't turn around to look at him.

To his surprise, she replied, "Do me a favor, don't bet your ass on it."__

Squall watched her figure strode out of the bistro, and towards the silver Porsche parked near the sidewalk. "She is by far the most incredible girl I've ever met." He whispered to himself, without a trace of denial, and shook his head in amusement.

An enrapturing feeling of accomplishment twisted his gut teasingly. _She had not changed _and when that fact was brought onto his attention, he knew he was closer to uncovering the truth on his own and he was better able to get her out of this troubling hole she had dug for herself.

Her feisty attitude had never calmed. Even when they were together, they had occasional rows, all of which Rinoa had emerged victorious with either her silent treatments or her never-ending arguments that ended up pissing him off and declaring forfeit.

Squall would snap back something that clamed her mouth shut, and she would come back hours later (sometimes even in the middle of the night) with a totally random comeback. _"Ok, fine, whatever … you fucking win, just go to sleep!" _He has hissed at her once as it neared midnight and she was still ranting away her points and case. Rinoa had smirked triumphantly and replied self-importantly, _"I'm always right, sweetie, why do you even bother anymore?"_

So, as always, he would let her win this one. And hopefully, it would end in playful wrestling on the bed, as it used to. He bit his lip to avoid the surfacing smile. At that moment, when his thoughts switched from PG-13 to R, his cellphone rang and he reached to his belt, pulled it off and flipped it open, "Hello?"

"Squall, I'm going to need you to do an immense favor for me." Was that distress in the weary politician's voice? "One of my … henchmen has reported the murder of Linda Kinneas. I can't explain much right now … there has to be some purpose to her assassination."

Squall froze, slightly confused, "Isn't she your wife?" His mouth had gone slightly dry and he felt incredibly uncomfortable in all this. 

Caraway heaved a sigh and continued on as if nothing was, "Since she's a woman without any knowledge of politics, she couldn't have been killed for that. I … I think … there was an ulterior motive for this murder. I fear that I even know that motive, though I'm crossing my fingers that I'm wrong. An unreliable report declares that a silver-haired man fled the limo in which my wife's body is found and headed in the direction of the subways … probably to avoid being targeted. This news is very untrustworthy, but it only came in two minutes ago. This was at the Versailles station … are you close enough to find him?"

"Yeah … I think …" He replied, befuddled as he dropped a useless tip on the table and headed out into the crowded streets. Squall glanced at the sign 'Stratford Station' and descended the stairs leading from the sidewalk down into the underworld transportation system.

James gave strict orders, "There's no need to kill him so the police can trace you but get the damned tape that he's carrying … and don't listen to it! I'll find out on my own. Is that crystal clear?!" Squall scurried down into the crowd, "Yeah … un-huh, no problem." He replied absent-mindedly and looked over people's heads to see if he could spot a platinum-haired man. The green-line subway pulled to a halt with ear-splitting noise and let off a new batch of passengers. Squall knew the underground tunnels well, and he knew that the 'green-line subway' ran from Versailles to Harper station so there would be no doubt that the 'suspect' had been on that subway. 

Dozens of peoples with briefcases, backpacks and purses hauled off onto the platform and headed towards the red-line, the blue-line or the orange-line stations that would run them off east, west and north. Stratford station was where they all intercrossed, in the heart of the city, making rush hour a very hellish time.

Out of the corner of his eye, a dart of silver caught his eye. The passenger that had just gotten off, a rushed pace … he was heading for the orange-line that would run north, to the industrial sector. Without knowing if he was the man, Squall bolted for him and followed him into the compartment.

It was hot and crowded and Squall kept his eyes on his prey. He noticed his target fidgeting uncomfortably in his jacket pocket. "What've you got in your pocket, kid?" He asked aloud, over the buzz of the sliding subway, and his victim turned to look at him nervously.

Nick was suddenly fearful. This man knew. The train halted to a stop to let off the odd passenger and suddenly, he felt he had no other choice. He broke into a run out of the doors and his predator pursued with lion speed. "If only Cain hadn't left, damn it, I knew this shit was going to end up on my shoes!" He thought, panting his way up the steps and back onto the street. Squall was at his heels. With a leaping hope, he slammed himself into the younger boy's body and tackled him to the sidewalk. Drops of rain began falling, wet and cold onto the sidewalk, washing the splatter of blood flowing from Nick's mouth. On all fours, he spat out saliva saturated with specks of crimson. 

Squall stood defiantly above him. Rain dripped down the side of his course-looking face, his blue eyes hardened as he panted to supply the needed oxygen to his lungs. He managed a hoarse menace, "You're not going any-_fucking_-where."

Nick pathetically attempted another escape but Squall's strong foot crashed down onto his back, flattening him on his stomach in the cold, empty streets. Workers had already left their industries; cops had sped to the nearest doughnut shop for a break … there was no one to hear his yells for help. 

"The hell do you want from me?" Nick breathed anxiously, resting his head on the sidewalk as a way of surrender.

His aggressor wiped his mouth and took another refreshing breath. His hair was beginning to get sopping wet, locks of it stuck to his temples and the rebel ones stuck up in an unruly fashion. The drops poured down from his hairline down onto his chin and neck, giving him a sweaty and tired look … but this fray had far from exhausted him, "Give me the damn tape!" Squall roared impatiently. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, man." Nick tried fruitlessly. Cain would do him in for losing this precious piece of evidence. His partner had ordered him to make a copy of it, so the entire loot wouldn't go to Seifer … if he lost it, he could only rely on his memory and that would discredit the information.

"Don't play dumb." Squall's tone was even, but withheld a very clear threat, "What's on that tape?"

Nick closed his eyes, "Why do you want to know?" If he was going to lose the tape, he needed at least a purpose. 

"What's it to you?" Squall demanded harshly, dismissing the idle chitchat, "It doesn't matter why I want it or what I need it for. Just give me the tape or I'll knock you out cold and take it from you." He saw the younger boy reach into his pocket and retrieve the tiny item. Squall wrenched it from his hands and tucked it into his own jacket pocket.

"I'll get it back." Nick promised, "Even if I don't … it won't erase what I know."

Squall snickered maliciously, "Don't threaten me, _kid_. I don't have a fancy machine to erase your memory … but don't forget that I can always erase _you_." 

"What are you for her? A guardian angel or something?" Nick asked, just as Squall was turning away from the pitiful site. The questions made him freeze, just like the news of Mrs. Kinneas' death. Who was _'her'_?

"What're you talking about?" Squall snapped rudely. It was as if he had already guessed what Nick meant, but was too busy hoping he had misheard.

"Rinoa Heartilly … what are you to her? You gotta know her if you want this tape so damn badly … are you looking out for her, making sure she doesn't get hurt or something?" Nick slowly crawled back on all fours and heaved himself to a sitting position.

"What the hell would you know about her?" Squall asked, his blood turning suddenly envious with suspicion that this boy knew something he didn't about a girl he was denying to love.

"I know she's gorgeous. I know she's been hurt too many times. I know that even if I could, I wouldn't use that fucking tape against her. I know why she's the way she is, I know how she must be feeling right now … are you Squall? Squall Leonhart?"

"Maybe I am, what the hell is it to you?" Squall growled with mounting anger.

"You're an asshole. A complete bastard and an idiot, fused into one. You let her go. You let her slip away. You let her die in your arms." Nick turned his head to face his enemy, "You're the one who killed her, in the end, it's your fault."

Squall roared with heaven-splitting violence, he couldn't take it anymore, "WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, WHAT THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW?" Blood pounded in his ears as he delivered a final blow to Nick's stomach, leaving him reeling in pain.

He walked away back into the dry subway station. 

IT TOOK FIFTEEN minutes to arrive back to the comfort of his car, where he was left to ponder whether or not he would break his boss' orders. Obviously, there was something on that tape relating to Rinoa Heartilly. Without further thoughts, he propped the tape into the reader of his car. Turned on the vehicle and pressed 'play'.

The woman's voice was invaded by fresh fear. It occasional quavered and cracked in nervousness, "I don't know much about her, I only know what I've been told."

"And so, what have you been told?" It was Nick's voice and Squall could recognize it distinctly.

There was a desperate sigh, "Her mother died of cancer when she was really young. My husband … my husband told me that she had then shut herself off to the world, and he hadn't bothered to cause her more grief by suddenly becoming the father he had never been … so, she became … troubled, to say the least. I could never … _speak _with her without being … insulted or … verbally assaulted. She was a genuine little monster and it wasn't late before I could hear her bedroom window open at the stroke of midnight where she would sneak out and do God knows what kind of things with boys her age." 

The woman took a rattling breath; "My son told me … she had a problem with drugs at some point, which doesn't surprise me at all. She grew to be dependant on them until one night when her nervous system literally exploded in shambles. My son said she avoided drugs from then on. Then, at eighteen she was gone from the house. I'll admit, the atmosphere lightened after she left. It was much more peaceful … less things got thrown across the rooms and such." There was a nervous chuckle, a gulp and then she narrated on, " … Irvine told me that she began to build herself a criminal empire … similar to my husband's. It must have been to spite him."

Linda again, took a short breather and resumed, "Then she met this thug, of some sort. He was this rough … poor kid from the slums." Squall blinked back in shock. He had never been called a 'thug' by someone he had never met and the reflex thought was, 'That damned bitch deserved to die.' He had to remind himself that she _had _been biased on Rinoa, and so evidently, she would also been swayed in the judgment of her friends, "According to Irvine, he … didn't treat her … ethically, or something like that." Squall rolled his eyes, 'Note to self: Kill Irvine.' And he went back to listening, "She fell in love with this ruffian and I suppose that's when things began to go downhill."

"She … was still such a child. I hate to admit it, but I suppose I do feel a bit … _sorry _for her. Rinoa fell in love with him, Squall Leonhart I think was his name. Unfortunately, I could have counseled the girl otherwise. Hoodlums raised in the dingy streets of Deling have hearts of stone … they don't love, they abuse. I think she was in an violent relationship … the girl may have suffered from Stockholm syndrome, who knows … but the poor child …"

Squall growled as if to keep himself from ripping the cassette into pieces. This was a load of bullshit. He had never hit Rinoa. Linda Kinneas' words seemed to fade in the backdrop as he lost himself in his memories. No, he had never laid a damn finger on her.

_"Can you stop being a fucking idiot … eh? Please?" He had snapped at the top of his lungs, slamming a glass of water on the counter table, "Think logically, Rinoa, the asshole hasn't paid his fucking protection for over two months … the gangs are on his ass, do you think I'm going to get off mine to help him?"_

_She threw her arms up in the air in exasperation, "He's still a damn person, Squall. You can't let him die at the hands of people like that! And oh never mind, I don't know why I bother when you're in these moods." _

_  
His eyes had locked into hers and she had sensed that a confrontation was inevitable, "What moods?" He had growled in a menacing undertone, "I don't have fucking moods! Pissed-off isn't a mood, it's a state of being."_

_  
She had the actual courage to roll her eyes and click her tongue, "Yeah, so your moods, as I was saying. It's like a guy PMS or something."_

_"What is it, fuck, you want to die tonight or something?" He had asked, looking dead serious._

_"Christ, alright… never mind, calm down. Don't give yourself an aneurysm." She had blurted to him sarcastically and strode out of the kitchen to avoid her losing of patience. Things would have turned much more ugly._

_He had pursued her provokingly, "What? Excuse me? Can I know what your fucking problem is?"_

_And that had set her off, "My problem? MY problem, Squall? What's YOUR problem … you seem to have more than me. I really think-"_

_"Honestly, I don't give a shit what you think at the moment! You're telling me to go save this bum's ass, give me a break! Do I look like a good Samaritan to you? Am I wearing blue spandex? Do I look like a Superman to you? Spiderman? Whatever? I thought we had this policy here that-"_

_She cut in, annoyed, "Alright, never mind, just shut the hell up. It doesn't matter anyway!"_

_That night, after he had calmed down, he had slipped under the covers and reached for her. She had accepted his pathetic apology. It had been an abusive relationship._

"And of course, even I could have predicted, she got pregnant." His attention snapped back to the tape, "The boy was a jerk, she couldn't take it anymore. She planned it to get rid of him, he got sent to jail after being set up … she got an abortion of course. Normally, I don't support those things but in this case, I think the girl made the right choice … for once. Think about what the child would have turned out to be … with genes from a father like that!" She laughed nervously for the last time.

Squall hit the 'stop' button. He couldn't take it anymore … he was going to be sick. He got out of the car rapidly, despite the rain that was hailing down from the heavens. Squall stared up at the gray sky of Deling, contemplating what it felt like to be charged with murder. 

_His child, their child. He had killed it. It was his fault. He let her slip away. He had destroyed Rinoa Heartilly. _

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: Oh, the angst, free me from the indeniable urge to make this fic bleed out of the ass with ANGST. Yeah, so ... abortion. I'm so clever. And for those who are, "No, abortion is bad! I am pro-life!" Well, I'm sorry, deal with it. Frankly, I'm pro-choice, not that any of you would care but I thought I'd give you that 'as-a-matter-a-fact' treatment.**

**a) You make me squeal with delight and I mean that in a very CLEAN way.**

**b) Well, that was average!**

**c) You are mediocre, you pathetic human.**

**d) Someone, probe my eyes out, I can't stand her shit!**

**So, I worked QUITE hard on this chapter, I'm expecting MINIMUM 22 reviews for this baby ... and I'll still update on Saturday. If expectations are not met, well ... it'll have to go for next Friday. Oh, I'm so screwed because I've only written up to 16. **

**Anyway, review, recommend and support me. Oh, if any of you want to draw for this fic, I'd be more than pleased to post your wonderful art as my profile pic (it's a picture of my kitty cat at the moment) and I will also garantee my eternal love to you.**

**Check out www(dot)freewebs(dot)com/eatbacon and vote for the wonderful webcomic of joy and join the forums too ... you'll have lots of fun there.**


	15. It Hurts to be Alive

_I said I love you and I swear I still do_

_And it must have been so bad_

_'Cause living with me must have damn near killed you_

_-Nickleback (How you Remind Me)_

****

**It Hurts To Be Alive**

Squall ejected the evil-bringing tape and held it with his thumb and forefinger. What the hell was he supposed to do with _this_? Mixed feelings swallowed him entirely leaving no room for clear judgment or cool composures. An animalistic demon was readying its release. If he gave the tape to Caraway, he would be the number one target of headhunters everywhere. If he didn't give the tape to Caraway, the politician himself would eventually demand to know where the tape is and why he didn't have it. It was catch twenty-one.

He exhaled a deep breath to keep himself calm for a few more minutes and rested his head against the headrest of the car seat, "Goddamn it, why didn't she tell me? Why didn't she say anything? Why the hell couldn't we have … talked things out? When's the last time I've ever talked things out?" He was aware that this tape had only plagued him with more questions that would need answering. He was also aware that this cassette of impending doom had burdened him with sufferings he deserved but did not need.

The young man glared at the piece of recording. It was like a game of hot potato, if he didn't pass this on soon it would scald his hands and he'd have Rinoa's father on his ass. _Rinoa's father - Caraway_, "Holy Christ, I'm in deep, deep shit." He had never met any of Rinoa's family. His brow furrowed in confusion, "If this 'Linda' had been Caraway's wife … then … she must have been her step-mother … and if she had a son called Irvine …" The realization struck him dumb like a thunderbolt.

"I feel like a total jealous ass." Were his first coherent thoughts after this newfound connection, "At the same time, a strange sense of relief that she isn't in a relationship with anyone … well, I don't know this for sure … but … she deserves someone better anyways." He let out another sigh, laden with exasperation.

He ignited the engine of his car and began to drive off near Angel Grove apartments, he had taken his decision, whether it be wise or not, "Drop the tape, stay far from Caraway from here on." Rinoa's father had a right to know, though _she_ would most likely kill him for this. He knew she had never gotten along with the man, but that was about it. Rinoa hardly ever spoke of him.

But the guilt. The damn searing guilt was tearing apart his insides. He tried not to think of it, tried to tell himself this could be dealt with later. And Irvine's endless hypothesis could have been wrong … who was there to prove he had really destroyed Rinoa Heartilly? How was he supposed to take this? If he hadn't been a total ass, if he hadn't hollered in frustration at her … he could have been a father. Was that even plausible?

In his twenty-five years of life, he had never stopped and asked himself these questions that seemed to only afflict old people … couples who were married and had a stable career … who were moving onto family planning and all that nonsense that had seemed so far away and even impossible twenty minutes ago.

Had he loved Rinoa Heartilly? Yes, he had no trouble admitting that. But had the idea of children was unthinkable. Even now, Squall tried to imagine Rinoa's slender figure being scandalized by a rounded belly, maturing in maternity. There was no other word for it: ludicrous.

When he had arrived at Angel Grove apartments, he got out of his car and walked numbly into the lobby where Caraway was waiting for him on a velvet-cushioned bench. Drenched by the pouring rain, the handyman fumbled for the tape in his pocket and laid it gently in the politician's palm, "Did you listen to it?" His face grief-stricken, weary … but it had a strong quality to it, something infallible to his determination.

Squall looked at him in the eye, his own pupil dilating as a single-worded lie escaped his lips, "No."

James Caraway seemed reassured, "Good. Thank you."

SQUALL SLAMMED HIS body against the apartment door and the lock succumbed to the animalistic force that tore it off its hinges. "Ellone!" He hollered with hell-splitting violence. His startled sister came rushing from her living room and her shocked eyes traveled from her brother to the shredded door.

Anger replaced her startled fear, "God damn it! I have neighbors, you prick! If you would have knocked, I would've answered anyway." She attempted to close the remnants of the door without avail. The doorframe had been split and broken, unfitting to the actual door with a broken lock.

"You knew, fuck, _you knew_!" Squall bellowed at her, nothing short of furious, "You knew it to the last damn detail! Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" Betrayed. Again, betrayed. Did he have 'moron' written on his forehead? His veins were erupting in utter fury, "She was pregnant, Ellone, the kid was my fucking baby! The rest of the fucking world knew, but _I _didn't!"

Understanding clicked into place and Ellone retorted fast and just as furious, "No, Squall, that kid wasn't your baby … it was hers! And she lost it because of you! Why I didn't tell you? Because I didn't think you had a right to know … not with the way you treated her! Why didn't you just tell her you loved her? Try to keep your temper from flaring sometimes? You should have known! You look at that girl and you know … despite her will to be strong … damn it, you _know_, you're supposed to _know _how fragile …"

She stopped and took in a rattling breath. He had turned his back to her but she could still see his hands to his face. "I didn't know …" Ellone heard him whisper, "I didn't think she …"

"Didn't think, didn't know what? Didn't think that maybe she really did love you? Honestly couldn't live without you? Squall, when you came into the picture she fell … hard. And she thought that she could permit herself that … then when she realized that maybe you weren't Prince Charming, she kicked and screamed to untangle herself. And maybe you did deserve a second chance … but she didn't think she could afford it." Ellone shakily placed her hand on his bicep, "She was scared. Of you … of her … there are things you might not want to hear about her, and maybe that's why you never asked but I'll tell you this one thing … she's letting herself die now."

"And let me guess … that's my fault too?" She could swear it had been the trace of a tear that he had wiped away before dishing out his sardonic joke.

Through her exasperation, she managed a small smile, "Well, there's a way to redeem yourself. You're not a total asshole, contrary to popular belief. There must be some inch of gentleness in you if Rin stood so amazed and in love." Ellone jabbed at lighter humor but her brother seemed lost, drowning in his own thoughts.

A way to redeem himself? Fix things?

_Rinoa. Rin._

SHE WAS A shipwrecked soul, floating downstream towards the waterfalls. Seeing him again had shaken her, turned her upside down. Staring up at her white ceiling, she felt the pulsing, rhythmic beating of her heart, alone. She knew if she felt on either side of the bed, she would only feel his absence. Maybe that's what hurt so much.

Rinoa took a disconcerted breath and exhaled it erratically. Tears glazed her brown eyes, verging desperation. When she attempted to blink them back, they were released onto her cheeks. She was cold. So damn cold. The tips of her fingers were numb with ice as she clasped both hands together to preserve the fleeting warmth.

She turned to her side, tears streaking her delicate porcelain skin and brought her knees to her chest, imitating a fetal position. With her knotted hands, she held her stomach as if a cramp had struck. A choked sob escaped her, a call for help. Trembling lips closed together, dryly pressing shut.

The only noises in the apartment were tiny whimpers, her biting back weeping. It hurt so damn much to be alive.

CARAWAY WAS NOTHING short of angry. On the threshold of madness he had hurled the tape player against the wall with such violence that its plastic had smashed inwards, giving anyone a glimpse of its intricate wire-works of the inside. In one night, he had lost his wife and his daughter. He was left a widower once again but it always stung less the second time around.

His daughter, however, that scalded him more than the fires of Ifrit. Rinoa - pregnant - abortion - _Squall_. The coherent thoughts couldn't even piece together, but he knew what each represented, "That … _asshole_ … how could he just … _hurt her_ … my baby, my girl …"

_The worst Squall could do was betray him, and all that would be left to do is kill him._

But he resented _her_ too, "She _let _herself sink, damn it, Julia, _look what she let herself do_." Hate? Pity? Anger? Mercy? Which one was overcoming him right now, he didn't know. "Is this my fault? It is, isn't it? I'm the one to blame … not enough discipline, not enough consideration … always away; even when I was there I made myself invisible. But … damn …"

To shift the burden of the blame on his shattered psyche, he turned back to the boy, "I'll kill him … I will … this is a transgression that cannot be ignored. His hands … filthy with my daughter's blood, he's the murderer!" James continued to grapple onto things beyond his control.

He reached for the portable and dialed Irvine's cellphone number. It had been quite a while since he had punched in those numbers in that sequential order yet he still remembered. He knew his 'son' would be more than unhappy to speak to him, especially since he was heavy with bad news and prodding questions.

"Hello?" It was Irvine's voice, no doubt. Caraway had never heard it very often, the boy seldom spoke especially when he was around. Though he was a man of little words, Irvine had always had that discreet glare on his face much like the curse words that flew out of Rinoa's mouth.

"Hello Irvine … it's James." They had never gotten to the 'dad' thing and he supposed they never would. It was far from important and it wasn't as if they were planning a fishing trip or a camping expedition together. Caraway had never played ball with Irvine, neither had he tucked him in. They were strictly acquaintances.

A chilly silence swept by, "Alright. How are you?" The younger man decided it was better to exchange pleasantries before possibly getting at each other's throats.

" … Listen, Irvine, I have some bad news." His stepfather went straight to serious business, "You … you were the one who recounted Rinoa's past, word for word to your mother, is that … correct? She couldn't have gotten that information anywhere else."

Irvine flinched. She had snitched on him, rather … on Rinoa. And now Caraway knew. His sister would have his hide for this, "Well … I … she told you?"

Heavy with grief Caraway confessed, "Well, yes … indirectly, yes."

"Listen, James … Rinoa, she … she's done lots of stupid things but who hasn't? Ever since Julia died she's been clinging onto every damn thing she can." He tried furiously to remember exactly what he had and hadn't told his mother, "She … she's …" Excuses for his sister's early, erratic behavior didn't come so easily to him, "She's been through a lot. And, despite what you might be thinking … she's dropped the drugs, the alcohol … but she's still worst than before."

James remained silent for a while and when he opened his mouth to speak, he found it dry and his throat was irritated, "Yes, I would expect it to be so … after … an abortion."

_Shit, the abortion!_ Irvine thought, breaking into a cold sweat, "What else would have had her do? She loved the guy and I'm ready to bet she wanted that kid. She just … she just didn't think he loved her, she panicked … worsened her situation."

"She's twenty-five _now_, Irvine." Caraway snapped sharply, "She must have been twenty-three then. If maybe I had whipped her into shape when it was time, she would still be studying to this day, she wouldn't be thinking about such stupid things, she wouldn't be _'worse than before'_, she would be what her mother would have wanted her to be, God damn it! Don't you understand?!"

"I understand, I understand!" Irvine yelled back, "Don't you think I know? I may be younger than you, old man, but I get what you're trying to tell me! It didn't happen, it never will … if you want to finish her off, throw her back into an Ivy League school! Drag her, kicking and screaming. I don't even think she cares anymore. You want to know what matters to her? You want to know the only thing that can really even make her _think _of living to see thirty summers? I hate to tell you, but does _Squall Leonhart_ ring a bell?"

Caraway's eyes opened in lightning shock, "What would that ruffian make any better? He would make things worst, ten times fold! He's the source of the problem!"

Irvine interrupted his stepfather furiously, "No, see, you don't get it! He's not the problem at all! Trust me, I've been down that road of blame before. Actually, they'd probably be a nice, happy little family right now if it weren't for her first problem … the biggest one, the one that's been dragging her down since she was something like fifteen! Her mom, James, her mother … or rather, the lack of a mother. She goes to that fucking cemetery every damn month and she probably cries at that grave every time too!"

"How am I supposed to fix that? How am I supposed to make that better? She's dead." It had been the first time he had said those words aloud. _She's dead. She's gone. _It seemed so chilly all of a sudden.

"I know there isn't a way to fix that. I'm not asking you to bring back the dead, I'm just asking you to understand the living! Your daughter fell in love … she _is _in love with a man she hurt, with a man who hurt her. They're so imperfect, so broken that they fit together … you're a man who faces facts so obviously you haven't got any notion of what I'm talking about but I'll tell you that the only person who can bring your daughter back is the same guy who you accuse of having destroyed her. Might not make you happy, might even make you want to kill him … but everything else falls to deaf ears with her except his voice."

"Wow, thank you, Irvine, that was enlightening." Caraway drawled skeptically. He chose not to believe the truth behind Irvine's words.

"Yeah, I thought that was quite observant myself. I might've made it as a scientist or a psychologist, you know?" He didn't wait for his stepfather to reply, "Is my mother nearby? I'd like a word with her."

"Your mother isn't nearby." Caraway's voice was a little softer, a little less harsh.

"Ok, well, when she comes into your line of sight, tell her to drop me a line. Until the next time we chat, old man, and hopefully that won't be soon."

Caraway caught him before he was going to hang up, "Irvine." 

"What?"

He took a deep breath, "Your mother's dead." A pause then _click_. The cutting of a line.

"WHERE'S THAT FUCKING tape?!" Seifer slammed his fist on the desk and scowled at his younger brother, "You promised it to me _now_, and you don't have it _now_. Where the hell is it?"

Cain shuffled uncomfortably in his brother's cross-examination. It was as if being picked out by a sniper of the opposite team. Slowly, the dark crosshairs would fixate themselves onto his temple and with the light pressure of the trigger a silent bullet would plunge into his skull. "There was a problem with my friend." _Stupid Nick, unreliable Nick … how could he have let that gold slip through his fingers?_

"You're a completely untrustworthy idiot!" Seifer exclaimed. He seemed to be in quite the foul mood today, "Cain, god damn it, you want to be part of the action but you can't even do a decent job on such a simple assignment! You even called me some time ago, announcing with great pride that you had Heartilly's past … and _poof_, now you don't! Where did it go?"

"Listen, my friend got jumped but some dude on the way!" The truth came out in a whirlwind of annoyance, "He said the guy was named Squall Leonhart or something and the dude seemed to have some sort of affinity for Heartilly so he took the damn tape! Now we have nothing except Nick's memory and we don't even know if 'Squall' gave that tape to someone else!"

"Woah, woah! Back up! Who did you say?" Seifer's enraged look was swiped to one of genuine confusion and curiosity, "What was the name of the 'dude'?"

"Squall Leonhart, that's what Nick said." Cain repeated.

Seifer leaned back into his office chair and remained quiet for a moment, but only for a moment, "Squall Leonhart … what's he doing in the city? Wouldn't he stay in Balamb with his precious SeeD forces? What the hell's that asswad doing here? This is my turf. You said he knew Heartilly?"

"Former boyfriend apparently." Cain watched his brother anxiously; Seifer was a ticking time bomb. _Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick _and when you least expect it _boom. _You didn't want to be near when that happened.

"Holy shit!" He exclaimed and slapped his forehead, wide-eyed, "This is fucking madness! So … Quistis' hitman … is it Squall? That doesn't make sense. Why would Squall protect Rinoa … if he's … the damn broad's an idiot!" Seifer shrieked in utter repulsion, "Why the fuck is she so stupid!?" He began to pound on his desk like a gorilla caged in a zoo with ugly children poking at him day in and day out.

Cain remained silent during this exchange. He seemed to sink back away from the conversation that Seifer seemed to have no trouble carrying out on his own, "Christ, what a dumbass! I knew I couldn't rely on her! Stupid, stupid woman! Argh!" He gave off another anguished roar and slammed his fist on his desk, "She thinks Squall's on her side, meanwhile he's going behind her back protecting the same person she's asking him to kill! Then she asks herself why Heartilly's empire hasn't fallen yet! Why, Christ, why, I wonder!"

Seifer was silent in his rage for a moment, while Cain remained quiet in his fear. The two brothers didn't so much as look at each other and finally Seifer managed a growl, "Whatever. Let her chase the illusions. It'll keep her off my case for a few days, or rather until she realizes what a dumb fuck she was. I'll take care of Heartilly myself. Retrieve that tape, or bring me your friend … got that?"

"Yeah." Cain muttered resentfully at this newly given order.

Seifer's venom glare turned on his younger brother, "What did you say?"

Cain rolled his eyes and repeated a little louder than required with a voice tainted in sarcasm, "I said, yes … _sir_."

AFTER RECOUNTING HIS tale word for word, Squall had left numbly apologizing for her destroyed door and with promises to fix it _eventually_. She tossed his empty words aside, knowing very well that she would need to call a repairman since she had the time to die five times over before her brother would repair anything, whether it be a toaster or a door.

"Get some sleep." Ellone had ordered him like the older sibling she was. He hadn't replied to that but she had read right through his thoughts, 'How can I sleep with nightmares plaguing me left and right?"

After his sulky demeanor had left her apartment, she had thrown herself on the couch exasperatedly. "I should've known to keep my mouth shut around Irvine … next time I see him, I think I'll beat him." An overwhelming sense of guilt claimed her soul as she contemplated her past mistakes. They were plentiful.

"Maybe I was being a little too harsh on Squall. I mean … he isn't responsible for everything; he's just one big jackass, that's all. If only he were a little more considerate … if only he weren't such a fucking _man_. And what can I do to help them now? I'm just a catalyst lost in the world of crime. How am I suppose to help the two most stubborn people in the world? Better yet, what have I to gain by helping them?"

A sharp knock rapped at her dismantled door. She jumped up a bit and pulled herself into a standing position. With long strides she merely pushed the door with her index finger and sardonically looked at her latest midnight visitor, "Oh, why hello … you incompetent prick who has repeated every last footnote to his godforsaken mother and driven my brother to the brink of insanity as well as violated your sister's, my best friend's, privacy."

"I don't need your bullshit now." His voice was weary and burdened with unbearable depression, "Can I come in?"

"Well, you could've _walked_ in, it wasn't as if the door was _locked_. Not that it can ever really be locked again. And besides … you're always welcome here." Ellone's last words were tainted with cruel sarcasm, "I mean, who would refuse an ex-boyfriend who didn't find you satisfying enough so he had to go jump some other random whore?"

"Ellone, I didn't come to see you about this." Irvine started softly. She noticed he had black bags under his eyes from strain and exhaustion.

"Of course not. If you _had _come here to talk about it, that would make you out of your flipping mind." She countered aggressively, "Who would want to talk about such embarrassing things of the past? Don't worry, I understand … rather, I'm pretending I do to save your pure little soul from being tormented with guilt because you _so _don't deserve _that_, isn't that right?"

"Ellone-"

"No! See, just shut up!" Ellone snapped viciously, boring her eyes into his like two radioactive rays piercing soft human flesh, "I'm just curious … was I not _good enough_ for you, Irvine? Could I not sleek your lust in one serving? Was it just a game? Did the strawberry blonde just look _too _damn tempting for you to resist? Why did you do this to me? That's all I'm asking, fuck, _why_?"

"Listen! I know I'm an asshole, I know I'm a prick, I know I'm a damn player and that I shouldn't be proud but this isn't about you and I anymore, Ellone, this is about-"

"I care about Squall and Rinoa but seeing them happy won't take away _my own pain_. They're important to me but I won't live through them, Irvine! What about me? Why do I have to play the guardian angel in this? When will someone ever look at me and see my pain like I do for Rinoa and set themselves on moving around the pawns of the chessboard to accommodate my lifestyle? I'm not any happier than she is, maybe I'm not as fragile as her, but I'm just as broken."

"Then I'm sorry." He replied firmly, "Is that what you wanted me to say? Well, I've said it … I'm sorry. What do you want me to do, Ellone? This is their damn story that hasn't compromised an end yet! Ours is dead, leave it like that. Don't try to revive the deceased, concentrate on saving the living."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was beginning to hope for too much, thank you for bringing me back down to Earth … quite kind of you. We're dead, they live. Let's not even try to make something out of our lives, let's just make sure they get through theirs."

"You're jealous." Irvine accused.

"I am." Ellone admitted freely, "I'm damn right jealous. I'm jealous of your constant and meticulous attention towards Rinoa, I'm freakin' green with envy that someone's in love with her, I'm damn bubbling at the fact that Squall and her are letting each other drown while I'm aimlessly tossing a lifejacket. I'm damn jealous of everything they can be in the end, it makes me sick to think that in ten years I'll be the aunt of the most beautiful baby ever and I'll still have nothing because I can never be happy! I'm just the guardian angel with torn wings, chained to my goddamn role, my goddamn curse, my _life_!"

Irvine didn't breathe, didn't speak, only listened. "A little darker side of my soul, isn't it? Too dark for you? Well, time to face the music … I'm a hypocrite, I'm a bitch, assess to me any name you wish because I've come to terms with that … it's what envy does to you … it consumes you. But how can you blame me for being envious of those who have a future? And you feel it too, don't you? Like we're the big kids, making sure that little brother and little sister stumble across each other."

"That's not true." Irvine cut in sharply, "Ellone, that's not what I meant."

"Your false words of comfort don't mean much, Irvine. The least you can do is admit it … doesn't it suck to live for the sole purpose of others? I mean, people will thank you and then forget you while leading on their happy little lives while yours remains screwed over. Tell me, because I see in your eyes the cruel realization I've instigated within you … doesn't it just hurt to be alive … or rather, to simply _exist_?"

His face tilted to the left and a long lock of light brown hair fell onto his unshaven cheeks, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "It does."

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: Alrighty then, I've done my share of making the characters realistic enough. So here's to prove that Deling city is made up entirely of people who are all evil, in a manner of speaking, no matter how much good they try to accomplish, they still have their greed, their sins, their jealousy and so forth. I know I've probably ruined the happy-go-lucky Ellone that you all know and love but I'm sorry, it had to be done. It didn't make sense for her to be so selfless since her life isn't exactly the happiest one lead.**

**Another point of concern. I will no longer be able to update once a week unless God sends me a miracle. I've done nothing short of fallen very much behind in my writings and thus can no longer afford to update so often. I've finished chapter 16 today and I need to catch up if I want to make it through the school year with regular updates (not one every six months). Dearly sorry for that, I sincerly hope this doesn't make me lose readers but ... sigh it must be done.**

**NEXT! Please, please, please, please, please tell your friends about this story so they may read and review also! I would really like to know what more people think and I would very much appreciate contructive critisism that could come my way. Also, if you can draw and would like to draw for Devil's Playground - I remind you that I would love you forever.**

**Please, make a gopher happy - read and review.**

**a) I like it so much I want to eat it.**

**b) It was ordinary.**

**c) Mediocre!**

**d) This was awful.**

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	16. Avalanche

**Avalanche**

****

To sleek the tense atmosphere, they had calmly sat down and Ellone had made coffee. She still remembered how he liked it: two teaspoons of sugar and a bit of milk, just enough to give it that caramel color. She cursed herself for having been so infatuated that her memory could still serve her to this day.

Ellone set the mug down on the table and carried her own cup to her seat. Irvine followed her with his eyes, taking in her every movement. There was something enrapturing about her at this moment, a bittersweet guilty pleasure. Her faultless façade was cracked, exposing beneath the mask an enticingly desirable she-devil. Ellone Loire was wicked but twisted around a mentality of good. She was human.

"So … how've you been?" Ellone asked nonchalantly while taking a sip of her caffeine fix. She stared at him in a peculiar way over the rim of her mug.

"Quite the stupid question." Irvine remarked, equally indifferent, "I've been juggling work for The Syndicate, meanwhile watching my sister from the corner of my eye making sure she doesn't run into excess trouble, which she's quite talented at doing. I'm sure you've heard that your brother has taken the liberty of removing all the money from our bank account. I can't blame the guy … he _was _given the pin number … by Rinoa, of course … I'm still not clear on the 'why' part." His speech had turned slightly bitter towards the end of his say.

Ellone smiled slightly, "Yes. I've heard. You know, he only did it to get her attention." She attempted to explain in light undertones of amusement, "Because there would be no way in hell that Rinoa would've agreed to see him otherwise." 

"Couldn't he have done it in a less radical way?" He remarked, quite annoyed, "He could've … I don't know, purchased an advertising board and made it read 'RINOA HEARTILLY PLEASE CALL THE FOLLOWING NUMBER' or something along those lines. Now I can't even buy myself lunch until Rinoa fixes this problem, which will most likely take ages because, let's face it, they've got a few cobwebs to clean up."

There was an awkward silence, "So what else is new?" Ellone inquired smoothly, taking another sip of her coffee.

Irvine, who hadn't even touched his cup yet, shot back at her defiantly, "It's important to you that we stay off the topic of Rinoa and Squall, isn't it?"

Ellone clicked her tongue in annoyance, "What do you want me to do, Irvine? It's their story, no one made _me _narrator so I won't assume the position. What will be will be and in the end everything will be fine."

It was Irvine's turn to be stabbed with a needle of aggravation, "Oh yeah? How'd you figure? Rumor on the street that there are plots on my sister's life, which is understandable as she's been pissing off some other gangs but the thing is that we're fresh out of allies. From what I've heard, Squall's been working with Diabolos and Trepe which means _against _Rinoa. So unless you're little brother's got a couple of Aces up his sleeve, my sister's either going to be murdered or she'll kill herself." 

"Oh stop saying things like that!" Ellone snapped, "Squall's planning to drag Diabolos out of the picture, that means Quistis'll be more dependent on him. Trepe's allied up with Almasy, whether you chose to believe that or not is your choice. Through Trepe, Squall will be able to control, indirectly, the two other major players. Almasy and DeGracia are his main targets."

"You've got way too much confidence in your little brother. Almasy won't be manipulated by anyone, especially not a little shithead like Squall." Irvine ignored her offended expression and continued on, "Quistis is a small fish to fry, what keeps her alive is DeGracia and Almasy. What _I _need to be able to sleep at night is for Rinoa to get back on her feet. I'd worry less about leaving her alone. I would need Squall to just stay out of the damned way, just for a little while. I would need … I would need Viktor Lynch and his motley, freaky crew to limit the DeGracia barriers, I would need Dincht to …" Irvine trailed off as if he were onto something, "I would need Dincht to wipe out Diabolos … then …"

"You would need a goddamn miracle, Irvine!" Ellone exclaimed wildly, flailing her arms in an insurmountable frenzy, "Wake up! You're asking way too much of everyone. Alright, listen, I can take out Diabolos on my own, I'm a journalist, remember? By cutting Trepe from her daily street newspaper, my brother becomes the favored one, ok? Check out this strategy: Trepe relies on my brother for news on the streets, Almasy and DeGracia rely on Trepe for news on the streets … uh-oh … I think there's a problem with this system already!"

"Tell me, sweetie, how the _fuck _are you going to kill Diabolos with the fact that you're a journalist? Are you going to interview him to death?"

"Do you think you're funny?" Ellone rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, "And anyways, I'm fresh out of ideas, ok? Everything I say is either stupid or unthinkable with you so let's cut this conversation short. You're always the smart one, I'm always wrong … isn't that right? I don't know anything, fine. Get out of my apartment."

Irvine chuckled, "Do you always take things personally?" He shook his head and smiled at her. A smile that nearly turned her to mush, "I didn't mean it that way. You're very intelligent and very gorgeous and I don't doubt you'll succeed in your domain of journalism _but _you're just not a girl from the streets."

"No, you're right. I'm not a girl from the streets and so what? I've adapted. That's what I do best anyway." She averted his eyes and wore her pouting look well.

Irvine couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at his lips, "Ok, Ellie, ok … if you say so."

SEIFER HAD REMAINED in his office late into the night. There was nothing left to do. Quistis was chasing a shadow, a damned illusion. If she still thought Leonhart was going to be her little lust puppy and wag his tail while bringing her news fresh from the streets, she had gone blind. "No, forget her … I don't need her." He thought while staring out into the darkness. He had shut off the lights and the only hum came from the air conditioning.

"I'll pretend we're still good friends … then I'll stab her in the back like everyone else. I want to be top dog and once I achieve that, I won't need anyone else but until then … until then I just need just one useful moron." He jerked a desk drawer open and reached to the very back of the compartment.

Seifer brought out a small Ziploc bag containing fine, white powder. He set the baggy on the cool desk surface and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. The blonde chairman of Deling's head newspaper took out a fifty-dollar bill and rolled it in a perfect cylindrical tube.

He dumped the crystalline dust from the baggie and used a file from the corner of his workspace to divide the cocaine into thin, straight lines. Snorting the lines, one by one, he indulged in the drug that stung as it infiltrated his nasal cavity, a portion shooting up to the brain, the rest he tasted. Soon, the white lady would come to deliver his angst. She would soothe him, like a mother does to her child with blissful lullabies. 

"Rinoa … she could be used as leverage." He thought, licking his dry lips, tossing the rolled fifty to the side, "We'll trade in Quistis for Rinoa. We'll eliminate the blonde, fuck the raven, and then shoot her down too. Yeah … good idea."

Seifer cracked his knuckles and his neck, "Good idea."

INSTEAD OF HEADING home like his sister had suggested, Squall drove on into the heart of the city. He turned onto a main street, one of the busiest during the night. Neon signs lit the sidewalks littered with drunks, prostitutes and guys looking for a good time. It occurred to him that he had never went to 'a night on the town' to get drunk, laid and whatever else there was to do in this beautiful city.

He was taking a risk by trespassing into DeGracia territory. For all he knew, Caraway may already be on the prowl for him. It didn't matter. The faster he got Rinoa's chores done, the faster he would be able to ask her the questions that were like spiders, biting into his flesh, their venom crawling under his skin making him itch in guilt, in anger, in betrayal.

Squall stopped his vehicle at a familiar street corner, parked expertly, walked out of the car and inserted a few coins in the parking meter. A block away from that particular corner was a shadowy boutique that sold posters and t-shirts of heavy metal bands, spiked jewelry. They also specialized in piercing and tattoos.

He had been into that shop many times, sometimes for thrills and after he had met Rinoa, it was for business. Now he found himself entering it for the sole purpose of running her errands once more and a murky mixture of resent and a child-like joy crept up on him. He had succumbed to her damn will again, but on the other hand, it felt as if he were still 'working with her'.

The handsome handyman strode all the way to the counter, situated at the very back of the shop and nodded at the clerk, "Hey, any chance I could speak to Viktor Lynch." He felt the soft reverberations of the floor beneath him as the music down below pumped bass from its loudspeakers.

The cashier, whose navy blue Mohawk was perked five inches from the rest of his bald, tattooed scalp snorted and grunted, "Who the hell're you?" He placed a calloused hand on the counter. His wrists were covered in heavy metallic jewelry, more tattoos intertwined complexly around his forearms and he had matching stud piercings on his eyebrow and his left ear, though he had preferred an indiscreet loop for his lip.

"A friend … acquaintance, rather." Squall replied, casting an eye around the grungy shop, "I'm sure he won't mind."

The man behind the counter snarled, "Oh yeah? Feel safe enough to say that, ey?" He turned and motioned for Squall to follow him. He led Squall through a backroom, a stock room until finally they arrived at a heavy wooden door. The henchman in disguise knocked twice and the door swung open with a creak. With the door open, the music sourcing from the basement was louder, "Aye, Erich … this bloke wants to see the boss."

The bouncer, physically similar to his friend, smirked, "Oh yeah, eh? There's quite the mosh pit down there, I don't know how you're going to get to him but like we'll keep you from trying."

Squall was lead down concrete stairs, looking a little unsafe to his liking. Strobe lights were rapidly blinking from every corner of the vast room, it was giving him a headache. He could feet the beat of the music in his throat, "Jesus, can it be any louder?" The screeches that were belting out lyrics were one with the cries of the crowd. It could be assumed that most of the people were dancing but from Squall's standing point, it looked like a big, drunken orgy. He couldn't help his eyes from rolling.

Sticking to the wall, he made his way slowly up to the stairs, leading to a balcony where Viktor was enjoying the spectacle. As a subway slinked past underground nearby, the secret basement below the shop shook and for a moment, the music was unheard. Squall pressed his hands to his ears and sat on the steps in a moment of weakness, "Oh my fucking God, how can they stand this?" His head wanted to split in two with the searing pain all the noise was causing.

After the metro had run its course, the music took hold again and Squall was able to continue his path up the steps, not without his headache of course. When he reached the top, he recognize Viktor's familiar mug, chugging down vodka without even feeling the burn anymore. He had always been a small man, only an inch or two taller than Rinoa, sporting a raven faux-hawk with green ends at the meticulously combed spikes. Viktor made leather fashionable since he rarely wore much else. His steel-toed boots were quite the fearsome things, especially if received with a swift kick to the tailbone.

Unlike most of his collaborators, he had few piercings, a stud for the left eyebrow and a stretcher for his right ear. To the women who liked his type, he was irresistible. He had a certain drive, his attitude matched his accent and his gray eyes stooped everyone to a lower level.

"Hoy!" Viktor greeted him, screaming over the music.

Squall slinked from the shadows to come take a seat in front of his old acquaintance, "How have you been holding out?" He asked loudly, in an attempt to make unimportant chitchat for the time being.

"Just feckin' fine. 'Cept for them damn rats down in 'ere." The rowdy leader replied, offering Squall the bottle of alcohol, "The guests jump 'round a bit and the next mornin' yeh find rat corpses 'stead 'o the floor. It's disgustin'." Squall felt something slither a path around his ankles and he flinched. With a downcast glance, he made out the thick body of a baby boa constrictor slinking towards Viktor, "That's why I got me this baby, named her Amy … she been gettin' rid of the babies."

If Rinoa had been here, she would've freaked. Squall pictured the snake coiling around her ankles, her giving off a shriek that would bury the music entirely and standing from her chair. He could also picture her finely sharpened heel repeatedly stabbing the despicable creature until it hissed and withered dead.

Squall took a gulp from the bottle and felt it blaze down his throat. He gave the bottle back to Viktor, "M'yes, she does look quite useful. Anyway, I came here to offer you something."

"Still with tha' blasted woman?" Viktor looked incredulously at his companion.

"Well … not exactly, no." Squall admitted hesitantly and Viktor gave him a smile of congratulations, "But I am doing this for her."

"What in the hell? Have yeh no spine, man?" Viktor snapped and glared at Squall, "She doesn't even feck you anymore and your still runnin' around doin' her favors?" He had picked up the boa and had wrapped it around his arm. Due to its excessive length, the snake had continued to curl across his shoulders and down his other arm.

"Let's just say I owe her this one." Squall retorted, slightly insulted by Viktor's harsh words, "She's not bad … well, not as bad as you put her out to be."

" … 'Course not … if she shut her mouth once in a while, she'd be a great feckin' feck but that don't seem to be the case. She's always complainin' and goin' on about ridiculous things. And I jus' love the way she called me a freak all the time, that was jus' so flatterin'." Viktor grumbled and petted the slick body of his pet, "So … what's her majesty want from me?"

"For me to give you her card. And for you to call her back. I think she's looking into an alliance or something." Squall saw the look of disgust in Viktor's eyes so he put up a hand defensively, "No, think about it for just a second. I know it's farfetched but you've got to just think it through. Viktor, you live underground … no one knows of your business, she's no exception. You could probably deal at two different tables. Just use them all. I'm sure you'll be hearing from others like Trepe and Almasy in no time. If you can just slip around them, you'd be the king of this place … you'd always be safe."

Squall thought quickly, a trickle of sweat forming at his temples. If he could just get Viktor into the game, everything would become a mess and thus simpler for him to begin the long process of elimination. Diabolos was itching to take a swing at The Syndicate, which left him with no time. He needed to start delivering the punches soon or Rinoa would be found dead in a matter of days.

Viktor's lips curled into a malicious smirk, "You know, I like ya … if not for the respect and attitude you project, then for yer mofo ideas. It's risky, y'know? But I like it. I'll give her a call." 

"Yeah, she just forgot to give me her number." Squall smiled wryly, "I guess I'll have to find her and give her _your _number. I have to take care of some other business anyway." _Other business_. The words tasted acrid on his tongue.

"Fine." Viktor jotted his seven digits on the back of an empty cigarette carton and tossed it over to Squall, "But make her hurry … I'm in no mood for waitin'."

"Yeah, got it."

CARLOS WAS GETTING very impatient, "When do I get to kill? When do I get to lick the blood off my fingers? I'm getting sick of this procrastination, what are your allies doing?" He yelled into the cellphone.

"Be calm!" Diabolos ordered harshly on the other end, "The Trepe woman and I are still undergoing plans for this murder and it will be intricately carried out without the least little fault. Do you understand the importance of predicting every little move from The Syndicate? Rinoa Heartilly is not a woman easily killed!"

"I'll make it so that it is so!" Carlos hissed, "This is my job, I know what I'm doing."

There was a sigh from his boss' part, "Wait, amigo. You've been my right hand since ever … do not disappoint me now. I promise you your bloodshed soon … just not yet." There was a click of the cutting of a line and Carlos threw his phone out his car window in frustration. He watched as a car ran over the device and left it in a million pieces. 

Opening his car door and slamming it shut he took long strides on the sidewalk for a bit until he had calmed down slightly. It was then that she caught his eye. A beauty, at the corner of the street. He had to look twice, "Is that her?" Her raven hair was layered and fell to her shoulders. She was wearing a navy mini skirt with a red tube top. Her looped earrings grazed her cheeks when she turned her head swiftly.

"A Rinoa Heartilly clone." Carlos smirked upon his good-fortune. He approached the young woman and tapped her bare shoulder, "Hello miss."

She flashed him a killer smile, "Hi." 

"Are you lost?" Carlos asked pleasantly. She giggled, obviously flattered at the handsome Hispanic's attention.

The woman flipped a lock of hair from her eyes and tucked it behind her ear, "I'm looking for Wolfe Avenue. Could you direct me to it?" 

"I could bring you right to it, senorita." He coaxed flirtatiously. She couldn't help crumble to his charm. Sure, there was something creepy about his gaze but Latinos were just so irresistibly charming. She followed him to his car, he made small talk. When had she begun to realize that something was wrong?

It was definitely before he turned into the dank, dark alley, "Where are we?"

She could barely make out his features any more. His five o'clock shadow, his spine-chilling glare … all was lost to the darkness. He didn't answer her question but instead got out of the car. The passenger door opened and he dragged her out of the vehicle, "What're you doing?!" She yelled, engaged in a panic. A blow to the head struck her down to her knees. Again, no answer, "Help! Please!! Don't!" The shine of a blade glared for only a short moment. She felt the cold steel just below her ear. The young girl shrieked, unbeknownst to the entire city, "Why're you doing this?" She tried to flail, she tried to hit, punch, grapple at anything she could but it was hopeless. Carlos had locked her hands behind her back, "Please, don't! Stop!" The sharpness of the cutting edge traced her jaw teasingly until it drew a line down to her neck, "Please! Please stop! Why are you doing this?" 

Carlos could have lied. It would've have made a difference. But he figured that the dead could always keep a secret. As silent as the grave. So he replied in all sincerity, she deserved to know the truth, "Practice."

And with a sickening slash, he ripped the young woman's throat apart. Blood gurgled from the bubbling wound and just to satisfy his lust for a kill, he wrenched her head to the side to make a stomach-turning crack. The dead body of his 'Rinoa Heartilly' dropped limply to the asphalt and drenched in a puddle of blood.

THE NEXT MORNING, Rinoa picked up the newspaper and it was comparable to seeing her own face in the obituaries. The sight of the murdered girl's face exposed on the very front page sent a wave of shock that rooted itself to her bones. What dementia was this? Whose sick idea got published in the paper?

She scanned the girl's face, bloodied, her empty eyes, her mouth a semi-closed gap as if she had died with a final scream. "What is this? A cheap warning?" She covered her partly opened lips with her left hand as her trembling fingers fumbled to find the article. "This is sick … this … is … Seifer's paper. What the fuck does he think he's doing? Is this intimidation or something?"

_Girl was found dead in unkempt alleyway by a homeless man. This would be the fifteenth reported homicide in the past month. Chief of police is looking for any leads, any potential witnesses. Parents of the girl shocked, unavailable for commentary. Detectives are looking for any motives behind this mysterious killing._

Her eyes tore away from the disturbing paper and she grappled for the phone. Rinoa shakily dialed Ellone's number and waited two rings and a half to be answered by a groggy voice, distinguishably her friend's, "H'lo?"

"Ellone, what do you know about the murder displayed on the front page of Seifer's paper?" Rinoa avoided beating around the bush.

"Uhm … good morning. I think I should really teach you how to make phone calls one day, you know that? So, how're you feeling on this fine, fine morning?"

"I'm not joking! What's up with the front page?!" Her voice was twisted with alarm and Ellone sensed this quickly enough.

"Woah, ok … cool it. I don't know what you're talking about. The 'front page' of Seifer's paper? I wouldn't know, you just woke me up. What's the big deal?" She asked sleepily, yawning.

Rinoa was lost for words. She began to imagine how stupid she would sound if she shrilled out something as mindless as, _"There's a dead girl that looks exactly like me, oh my God, it's a sign!! An omen! Check the sky for crows flying west or ... north ... or ... just crows in general, do it!!"_

"Well?" Ellone prompted, "What's up? What's got you so panicky?"

The younger girl remained silent for a few seconds and took in quick, shallow breaths, "Nothing. I'm just going crazy." She answered curtly and hung up.

Rinoa's gaze settled to the kitchen window, to avoid the paper. She could see the morning mist of the never-sleeping city slowly dissipating as the sun began to warm the metropolis. She figured that if she listened very carefully, she would be able to hear the soft rumbling of a commencing avalanche. The torrent that would crush her.

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: Woo, it's been a while. Got back from P.E.I. just yesterday but was having some issues so here I am, at 8:30 a.m. posting a chapter. I got a good deal of writing done on my vacation so I'm not so much in a crisis anymore but I still won't be able to update weekly, sorry folks.**

**So ... where was I? Oh, yes ... reviews. Why do you people not like giving reviews? Do you have something against me or is it just laziness? Come on people! It's not that hard. Click on the little 'Go Review' button at the bottom of your screen and tell me what you thought. I'm not asking you to write me a novel-lengthed critique - hell, I'll be happy with "I enjoyed it."**

**a) I want to marry it**

**b) It was ok**

**c) It didn't meet my expectations**

**d) Your writting isn't fit to kiss my ass**

**I just made it SO much easier for you guys. It's not that hard, you guys can do it - and think of the bright side ... all your efforts will be compensated by me doing a chicken dance and ramming into a wall so you can all point and laugh at the freak.**

**Thank you all for your support (those of you who give it). And I don't own Ziploc it is a trademark of Glad, bla bla bla ... **


	17. Stagger

**Stagger**

****

Against her better judgment, Rinoa stormed into the corporate building reserved for Deling's main newspaper. The 'Daily Post' hall buzzed with excitement at the obvious killer front-page they had pulled off this morning but Rinoa was far from a celebrating mood, "I want to see Mr. Almasy right now." She nearly snapped at Seifer's personal assistant on one of the higher floors of the skyscraper.

"That could be arranged if you have an appointment. Mr. Almasy doesn't see anyone without prior arrangement." She had heard those words so many times from her own secretary's mouth but coming from someone else they sent her flying off the handle.

"I'm _sure _Mr. Almasy will see me, with or without a rendezvous, just tell him Ms. Heartilly is here." Rinoa snapped harshly, annoyed beyond belief. This secretary had seen her ten thousand times before. How long did it take him to realize that she was formally an acquaintance of 'Mr. Almasy' and that she didn't need to be written down in that damn notebook of his?

"I'm sorry miss, but I've been given strict orders here and I can't grant you access to his conference room if you don't have an appointment." He looked down at her from his half-spectacles that were poised on his long, bony nose. He was a man in his fifties, with salt and pepper hair and a very arrogant attitude.

Rinoa's eyes were slits as she scowled at him, "Quit being an ass about it, buddy. I make twenty times your salary and that makes me twenty times more important than you in your employer's eyes so stop flipping through that stupid date book, ring up Seifer or I'll-" 

"What seems to be the problem here, Mr. Huggins?" A figure strode into the office and questioned the secretary.

Huggins gave Rinoa a despicable look and returned to the interrogator, "Mr. Almasy, this woman wishes to see your brother except it conflicts with the rule that he will not see anyone unless there was a prior arrangement-" 

"I don't NEED a damn appointment, Cain, tell him I don't need a fricken' appointment!" Rinoa turned towards the younger strawberry blonde who had entered and urged him to agree with her.

"Mr. Huggins, I'm ashamed of you. This is Rinoa Heartilly … you know very well my brother will see her under any circumstances, this is no way to treat a V.I.P." Cain reprimanded the old secretary and Rinoa shot him a triumphant look. "I'm very disappointed, your wife told me you were a very good man."

"You've met my wife?" Mr. Huggins asked curiously.

"Met her?!" Cain exclaimed, faking surprised, "I've screwed her!" He wrapped his arm around Rinoa and led her to the elevator. The golden doors slid open and they strode inside. Cain pushed the button for the top floor, and when prompted, he typed in a code. There was an odd silence that ballooned up between the two.

Rinoa decided to break it with a smirk and a short commentary, "So … you date old fogies now?"

"I was joking!" Cain frowned defensively, "It got you out of that little rut, didn't it? So, what is it that you need to see the almighty president about?" He added the few last words sarcastically and made sure she detected his tone.

"What was up with the front page?" She let it slip off her tongue and mentally cursed herself for sounding so stupid. It didn't even help to remind herself that she would have asked Seifer anyway and it would have sounded equally idiotic.

But Cain was an old friend from the days of would-be college years. They had played around together and had gotten into nothing less than messy situations. She had allowed their relationship to escalate up to 'experimentation' but had left it at that. Squall hadn't been entirely wrong when he had hypothesized Cain as her boyfriend. Though that was a long time ago.

"Heh, oh yeah … I have no idea. I have a feeling it was Quistis who asked him to do that. Listen, he's not that much of a trust-worthy ally, just to let you know."

"Irvine thinks he is, I've got no faith in him whatsoever. Repeat this to him if you want." Rinoa corrected firmly, "I just want to know if this is supposed to be a half-assed warning or what? Do I have to watch my back now, what's the deal?"

"Rinoa … take these things lightly. He's been one crazy asshole lately. Just … whatever. I think my father was a little too hard on him last time." Cain heaved a sigh, "Anyway, I'm getting out of this while I still can. This place is going to go down."

"How do you figure?" She asked him curiously but received no response. Cain was saved by the ding of the elevator. He motioned for Rinoa to pass in front of him, 'Ladies first.' and he followed closely behind.

"His supremacy is probably still in his office. I'll leave you to him because I have a feeling he'll be in a really bad mood after he hears what _I _have to say to him." Cain warned her, indifferently pointing to the double polished maple doors. "I'll just wait out here." In the vast hall before the grand office, the younger Almasy brother sat down on a red leather couch and propped his feet up on a marble coffee table.

He gave her one last look of encouragement before she hesitantly pushed open the two doors, "I thought I said I didn't want to see anyone!" Seifer snapped, his concentration on letters from angry readers. _"… disgraceful to show such images on the front page …" " … if you think shock value will help sell your newspaper …" " … have you no consideration for the girl's family?" _The public had been quick to react to his front page and the cowardly editors had forwarded the angry e-mails printed on his precious blank printer paper to him. So typical.

"I think you'd want to see me." Rinoa replied back coolly. She had already gone through this drill a million times. The most important thing was not to lose her head since that would only lead to hysterics and then he would see how weak and scared she really was.

His eyes rose from his work to the beautiful woman standing a few feet from his desk, "Why Rinoa … did you seduce my secretary into letting you up here because I told him I would fire him if he let _anyone _pass without an-"

"Appointment, yes … I know, he told me a thousand times. But Cain was kind enough to lend me a hand with him. So …" She drawled with an air of superiority, "Now you don't have much of a choice but to listen. What the hell is up with the front page? I thought we were …uhm … 'allies'."

Seifer smirked, "You felt targeted?" 

"No, no … not at all. I mean, there is that little fact that the victim and I look almost identical … also that the actual case of the murder is quite suspicious. I mean … a girl, not even a prostitute might I add, still in college and with a very secure future goes out for _one _night on the town, leaves her friends for fifteen minutes and within that time she gets coaxed into a dark alley and then has her throat slit and her neck cracked almost as if _both _were necessary. Not to mention there was no sign of sexual aggression so it was done in cold blood." Rinoa shrugged, "I don't feel targeted at all. Then, my supposed 'ally' _publishes _this story confirming all my previous doubts about him that he is, indeed, working with a bitch, namely Quistis …"

"I was trying to warn you." Seifer explained with meticulously plotted lies, "I found the murder rather suspicious myself. I agree, Quistis, rather Diabolos, is probably behind this and there may have been no actual purpose to that assassination except bitterness towards you."

Rinoa nodded apologetically, "Of course … trying to warn me. Have you ever heard of a phone, Seifer? Because, yes, I agree … posting a picture of a dead girl's face on the front page of the newspaper _does _really convey the effect of danger but I would've believed you if you had just … you know … told me, like normal people do." 

"Rinoa, I've been reading complaint letters all morning … so you can write some hate mail, I promise you I'll read it." Seifer smirked sarcastically, "Here's one you would like-"

"Oh, spare me, Seifer, spare me." Rinoa shushed him snappishly and rubbed her temples in a moment of annoyance. She was under the impression of being with Ellone.

"Sure thing, sweetcakes." Seifer inserted the letter from an angry woman in the shredder and watched it being minced to long, phalange-like shapes with a certain satisfaction, "So, you only came here to bitch at me? No 'I was wondering if you'd like to go out for coffee.' Or 'I've been thinking about you all night long.'?"

"You can shove it, _sweetcakes_." Rinoa mimicked sarcastically, disgust dripping from her words, "Yes … I only did come here to bitch my heart out to you, and obviously it was a waste of my time and gas money. I'll take my leave now, and just as a general piece of information I think you could use since I'm too lazy to write you an e-mail: you're _so _going to get sued for that front page. Better get daddy's lawyers ready. Heartless jerk …" She hissed her final words, turned on her heel and strode from his office.

He stalked her to the hall where Cain was still waiting and called out to her while she summoned the elevator, "Tell me, what kind of flowers do you like?"

The lift doors opened and Rinoa pushed the main floor button. She just had time to call out before the portieres closed, "A cactus, and you can sit on it!"

There was a short silence between the two brothers but Seifer broke it with an innocent look and a shrug, "Ouch. Feisty. What're you here for?" He turned to Cain and a look of aggravation dwelled on him.

"Caraway's got the tape." Cain answered with a heaving sigh.

"Failure." Seifer accused sourly, "Good thing I have a plan B, hm?"

"Yes, master, you are the eternal center of power in this corporation, long live the King and may his wise decisions guide us into the next millennia." Cain retorted sarcastically.

"Hey, you want to do me a favor? Get on your knees and eat me." Seifer glowered spitefully and grabbed his crotch to emphasize his point.

"You're into that kind of stuff, eh? So why are you on Rinoa's ass all the time?" Cain teased smartly and in response got a slap in the back of the head, "Yo, what'd you do that for, asswad!"

"Little brother, when I'm done with this city, you'll be kissing my ass for a piece of it. Might want to start minding your mouth." He warned and entered his office again, this time shutting his doors with a sharp slam to define that he wasn't going to see anyone else for a while now.

"Or you'll be kissing mine, I suppose it all depends … doesn't it, _brother_?"

AS RINOA LEFT 'Daily Post HQ' she dialed Ellone's cellphone number, wondering if her friend knew more on this murky happening. She was a journalist, after all, and had probably been charged with writing the follow-up article after the topic had lost its value, "Yello, Ellone isn't at home!"

"Ellone, I'm not an idiot." Rinoa rolled her eyes and sighed, "Where are you right now?"

"On my way to some fine, fine, _fine_ deliverance." She answered. There was a streak of nervousness in her voice that Rinoa couldn't help pick up on.

"You make it sound like you're going to drug up." The younger girl remarked innocently to hide the vicious tease behind the comment. She unlocked her car and got into the front seat.

"Not drug up - drink up, Rin." Ellone quavered, "I'll be at _Pete's_ if you need me … possibly recounting my life story to a depressed artist and/or drunkard so I have to go, bye!!"

"Hey, no Ellone, I need to-" But it was too late. The older girl had hung up in her feral search for alcohol. Rinoa growled loudly and threw her cellphone in the backseat in swift frustration, "Going to get smashed, I see. Or perhaps, even a tad bit buzzed as we speak. Bet you anything it's about missing her headline."

She ignited the engine and set the gear in reverse, "Fuck you, Ellone. God, this afternoon will be my downfall, now won't it?" Rinoa sighed and drove off in the direction of _Pete's._

She arrived half and hour after Ellone and it seemed that her friend had gotten a lot done during that lapse of time, "Hi Rinny … sit down and have a drink." Ok, no slur present yet … but she had that lost, wandering look in her eyes. And she had this limp way of propping up her elbow on the counter and resting her chin on the palm of her hand.

"I don't think it's a really good idea for me." Rinoa sat down on the stool next to Ellone's and she set her purse down on the counter, "Tell me, what could have possibly shattered your life so you result to drowning yourself in drinks?" She flicked a strand of hair behind her ear and stared at Ellone.

"I got beaten to another good article! So I told the bastards, I told them, 'KISS MY ASS' … and that's when my boss fired me. Or … no wait, it might have been when I told him it was no wonder his wife left him since his ass wouldn't fit in his chair anymore." She smiled goofily and called out to the bartender, "Two shots of grappa for me and my friend … as in, two shots each, Pete!"

"Grappa?" Rinoa asked incredulously, "Is that what you've been hitting for the past thirty minutes?" She began to massage her temples lightly, "Ellone … maybe I should just take you home."

"NEVER!" Ellone declared making everyone in the slightly dingy pub to turn around and look at them. A table of dirty men smirked and nudged each other while pointing at the two girls, "We'll make our own little party!" She smiled at Rinoa and pushed over half of the liquor that had just been set on the counter.

"Ellone … could we think and deal with this rationally? I know you're peeved about the article but I really need your help. I promise I'll make this up to you somehow, I _will _get you an article that'll bring you up there but first I need you to-" Rinoa was interrupted by the wave of a hand.

Her friend was scowling at her, "None of that now, honey." Ellone rose the 11/2-ounce shot glass to her lips and fired the translucent, 40% alcohol down her throat. It warmed the flesh on its way down, giving her a tickling sensation, "Believe you me, sister, it's better we both get ourselves plastered … the drink swooshes our problems away."

"It … _swooshes_ our problems away …?" Rinoa asked, not sure if she wanted to know the answer, "Ellone, I'm taking you home." She grabbed her friend's arm but let go as Ellone shrieked bloody murder, "Good Lord, STOP IT!" Rinoa snapped and rolled her eyes impatiently, "Come ON, let's GO!"

"I conject!" There was a pause which Ellone torn down with a bubbling giggle, "I mean … _object_. Haa … I get words mixed up all the time, no matter. I'm not getting out of here until I've had enough alcohol to forget everything that has happened today. Nothing can pull me away from this sweet, sweet escape."

"You're being a child!" Rinoa raved impatiently, "And you're dragging me down with you."

"Dragging someone down? Am I dragging someone down?" Ellone turned on her stool to look Rinoa in the eye, "I am trying to lift you and I up, honey. If you don't want a drink, that's fine but do _not _chastise me like you're my mother."

Rinoa groaned and sat down, "Well _someone's_ going to have to take you home." She stared off into space while Ellone downed two more shots in the span of a minute. There was an uneasy silence as the small population of the tiny bar went back to their activities, which mostly consisted of drinking.

After her third shot, Ellone looked mischievously at her friend, "Oh come on, you're not just going to sit there all afternoon and not have a drink, are you?"

Her mood infested with irritation, Rinoa slammed her hand down onto the counter, "Christ, what do you want? A drinking buddy? _Fine_." She gave Ellone a look of pure frustration and summoned the bartender.

Four beers, two margaritas, six B-52s and a shared tropical fruit drink later, the two were a little more than 'buzzed'. "Ok, ok … I want a glass of Jack Daniel's and just … just … just one more of those Bloody Caesar thingies …"

"We should really … get home." Rinoa's voice sounded constricted and her ears were turning pink, "Ellone … I think now would be a good time to go home."

"Rubbish!" Ellone waved away her friend's uncertainty, "We're not drunk, Rinoa." She giggled a bit and sipped her beer, "We're just a little sloshed."

There was something about the way Ellone had used the word 'sloshed' that seemed unbearably amusing to Rinoa. Laughing out loud, she managed to blurt out, "I think that's worse." Ellone caught her eye and began chuckling as well.

Their giggles were stifled to give way to an odd silence. Ellone bit her lip, smiling and finally introduced a little game that had come to her on the spur of drunkenness, "Question: When did you first start drinking?"

Rinoa had played this drunken diversion with her friends before. When people were far from sober, they usually weren't clever enough to lie, "Answer: When I was eight … my mother gave me a bit of champagne on New Year's Eve." Her answer was sarcastic, as she had not yet ingested enough beer to reply what Ellone wanted to hear.

"Oh come on, Rinny, you _know _that's not what I meant." Ellone smirked over the rim of her mug, full with cool, golden alcohol.

Rinoa shrugged and waved the question away passively with an indifferent, "I was sixteen."

Her friend clicked her tongue, "Nothing extraordinary about that, some get plastered at thirteen and continue forth till adolescence and unto adulthood. And there are worse things than vodka … there're drugs."

"Yeah, I started that at about that time too." Her answer was curt, cold, with a twinge of what? Regret? Shame? Perhaps a mixture of both, stirred, not shaken and served on the rocks. 

"Oh." The journalist remained silent and quietly downed more of her drink.

Rinoa, however, her mind dimmed with each gulp, quickly forgot the awkwardness of the situation, "Question: Ever thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with someone and it ended up 'not working out'?"

Ellone was as silent as the grave, trying to catch Rinoa's eye but failing. She was staring right ahead, almost as if she could see through the walls, "Yeah." She answered faintly, not sure whether or not that was the right answer.

"Ok." Rinoa replied numbly and brought the mug to her lips again. Her movements were slower as if to take time to coordinate them properly, "Men are such pigs."

"Now you're drunk." Ellone remarked innocently, giving her a reprimanding look, "Why, have you?" She cross-examined, bringing back the topic to Rinoa's strange question. The journalist already knew the answer, by God, she knew the entire story but she had yet to hear the 'un-cut' version.

"Maybe."

Ok, she wasn't ready yet. Rather, she hadn't drank enough yet. That was fixable. Instead of steering the slowly extinguishing conversation into deeper waters, she brought on a lighthearted, teasing topic, "With whom did you spend the best night of your life?" The question was riddled with dirty innuendos that she knew Rinoa would pick up on.

"I don't think _you'd _want to know." Rinoa answered truthfully, "I'll give you a hint: you're related to him." She smirked as though knowing the cringe it would provoke.

"Oh … I dunno …" Ellone stroked her chin pensively, pretending to ignore the answer, "Hmm … my father?"

A sly, immature smile lifted the corners of Rinoa's delicate lips, "I screwed your brother." 

Ellone clicked her tongue and groaned, repulsed, "Whatever."

"I _so _screwed your brother."

"Shut up."

"It was great."

"Rinoa!"

"Amazing."

She attempted to delivered a smack on the back of Rinoa's head but failed miserably due to the lack of adroitness skills. "Ugh … I'd hurt you so bad if only I had …" 

"Motor skills?" Interrupted Rinoa.

"Yeah."

All discussion was interrupted as Rinoa's cellphone rang from within her purse. There was a pause and Ellone had to give her friend a meaningful look that clearly meant, 'Pick up your damn phone.' Rinoa reached over to her purse and fumbled clumsily with the zipper, searching to nearly no avail in her seemingly bottomless handbag. "What is wrong with you, are you drunk?" Ellone snapped irritably after the seventh ring.

"No, not at all." Rinoa replied, not at all taking the time to insert the necessary sarcasm.

Finally, she emerged victorious, the handheld in her vise-grip. "Hullo?" She answered. The caller clearly had something important to say as a normal human-being, in a fit of understandable impatience, would have already hung up. The caller was Irvine.

"Where are you?" He asked worriedly. He was harping, she was still sober enough to know that much (and that was saying a lot).

"Uhm … good question." Rinoa cast a fervent look around, "It looks like a pub."

There was a short silence, "Why the hell're you in a pub?" 

"Another ingenious question … I think I'm drinking myself silly. But that's just a possible hypothesis, y'know … there may be another perfectly reasonable reason why I'm actually here but I'm not sure I'm level-headed enough to think of it at the moment."

Another stillness, "Ok, which pub are you at, I'm coming to get you."

"No, I'm fine, don't worry about me. Ellone and I are just sharing a couple of drinks and-" Rinoa's reassuring tone went unnoticed by Irvine.

"Oh Jesus, _she's_ there?!" He tormented anxiously, now having double the cause to worry, "Rinoa, what pub are you at?"

"I dunno."

"RINOA!" His patience exhausted. 

"I swear I've got no idea." Unaffected by his obvious mortification at her activities, she tossed the phone to Ellone. Bad move. Missing the necessary hand-eye coordination, the phone clanged onto the counter and slid a few inches down the way. Ellone fumbled for it and brought it to her ear.

"M'yellow?"

"Ellone, where are you guys?" Irvine tried again, more politely this time.

"_Pete's_!" She answered gleefully.

"Thank you. I'll see you in a moment." Irvine replied, articulating more than usual as if her comprehension of the English language had diminished.

"Okie dokie, I love you, hunny … bye!!" Ellone waved at no one in particular and handed the phone back to Rinoa.

"Did you just say 'I love you' to Irvine?" Rinoa asked, her eyes glazed with confusion and drunkenness.

Ellone giggled and nodded her head, "Yep. Oh, something you should know: I screwed your brother."

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: **Heh, quite the clever finish, no? I mean, Ellone HAD to give that slap in the face back to Rinoa to even out the odds. So, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, dearly sorry for making you wait two weeks ... but you'll be waiting another two weeks for the next one too so I suppose there is no need to apologize.

I've had quite the dilema lately. I've been debating whether I should keep writing this fic or if I should get a job. If I got an employment I would never have time to write with school starting in a week and all and I must admit that I'm VERY, VERY attracted by the idea of money. I think you guys will have to convince me otherwise in your reviews. Actually, this isn't a threat or anything, I'm actually dead serious.

a) Good

b) Fair

c) Mediocre

d) Poor

Again, I'm very much serious. I'd much rather work than continue writing long chapters that barely anyone reads. It feels like I'm wasting my time, sorry guys but my lifeless days seem to be coming to a close.


	18. Fall

**Fall**

****

"Eww, you're gross!" Rinoa stuck out her tongue like a five year-old and went back to her drink, "Ohh, eeewww …"

Ellone smirked, "Suffer in silence."

Irvine found them bickering this way as he strode into Pete's with a worried pace, "God, what're you two doing here?" He demanded as he reached the two stools occupied by the ladies he was looking for.

Rinoa turned her back to him still muttering, "Ugh … ew, you disgust me."

Ellone, however, gave him a completely different reception, "Irvy! What's up? Want to join us? Come on, ya know ya wanna … two is a couple, three is a party!" She grasped his wrist and tugged on his arm to beckon him over to a stool.

Rinoa was still mumbling contemptuously, "Sick and twisted dickheads." 

Irvine stood his ground against the invitations, "Ellone, I think you've drank enough to knock out a boxer, and I'm not talking about the lightweights. I should drive you both home … God, what were you thinking? Why is my sister here? Why … _what _could have possibly possessed you to think it would be a good idea to get _her _drunk?"

"Rinoa is a _big girl_, Irvine … she came here out of her own will and she sat down on this stool next to me willingly. She also ordered her first drink all on her own." Ellone scoffed at the obviously over-protective brother. He gave her a glare, not buying any of her stories.

"Yeah, _Irvy_, I'm a perfectly capable human … I can take care of myself, thank you very much." Rinoa wheeled around awkwardly on her barstool, "I'm a responsible adult."

"Yes, very responsible!" He snapped viciously at his sister, "I can tell by the flush in your cheeks and your obvious lack of dexterity skills." He wiped his face with his hands in a sign of absolute exasperation, "Love of God, sweet Mary and Joseph. Ok, party's over, off the stools, outside. Now."

He motioned the bartender over and asked, "How much is their bill?"

"Pff, stopped couting. Something like a hundred bucks." This was obviously Pete himself. A big, burly man balding and sporting a gray goatee. "Give me a hundred and ten and we'll call it square."

Irvine groaned and looked at his sister, "We don't _have _a hundred dollars! Do you remember how come we don't have that money? Do you, sweetie, do you?" 

Rinoa shook her head and shrugged. Ellone threw her purse at Irvine. At least, she was aiming at Irvine, it wounded up two feet to his left. He picked up her handbag and groped around for her wallet, which he found, opened and took out six twenties. He put the empty wallet back and gave Pete the money, "Keep the change, they probably drank more than you think they did."

"Hey, that's _my _money … you skank." Ellone muttered irritably, loud enough for Irvine to hear and ignore.

"Ok, now out!" The cowboy hissed at both women. They solemnly rose and stumbled their way out of the bar, clinging onto each other's arms for support. When they got out into the bright afternoon, they blinked back painfully the sunrays that were suddenly infiltrating their eyes, their pupils pulsating back and forth from big to small.

"Lordy!" Rinoa exclaimed hysterically, shielding her eyes from the searing light.

"Yeah, I know …" Irvine retorted sarcastically, his pity for them at an all-time low, "That's what happens when you hang around dark pubs all freaking afternoon." He guided them through the parking lot grudgingly, "When you get drunk off your asses."

Ellone turned furiously to face him, "I swear to drunk I'm not God!" She yelled, believing every word of her incomprehensible sentence. To prove her point, she slammed her fist on the hood of a green Cadillac, setting off the car alarm.

The trio stood, looking at each other. Rinoa was the first to react. She turned back towards the bar, "Hey, where the hell do you think you're going?" Irvine demanded, grabbing a hold of her arm.

Her answer was intelligently formed and surprisingly very sensible, though blisteringly obnoxious over the incessant honking of the vehicle's security system, "If I can still tell when she's being a dumbass that means I'm not drunk enough."

After some banter, a few onslaughts and more squabbling, the girls all managed to get into the backseat of the black Lexus. Irvine shut their door, swore a long slew of curses and disbelievingly rubbed the back of his neck. He got into the driver's seat, and in an almost lovingly father-tone, asked, "Does everyone have their seatbelts on?"

Ellone squirmed with the belt, unable to presently locate the buckle. Rinoa, who was only a tad more keen than her friend, informed irritably, "You're probably sitting on it."

"Are you calling me fat?" Ellone gawked in incredulity and hurt.

"I'm just saying your _fat _ass must be on the damn buckle!"

"Ok, that's more than enough!" Irvine's roar came from the front of the car, "Christ, grow up! Alright, has Ellone been secured to the seat, can we go now? Eh?" Silence was his only response.

WITH ELLONE PASSED out on Rinoa's couch, Irvine searched his sister's apartment for a way to make coffee. She had broken her pot and so he resolved to placing the coffee mugs straight under the machine and to switch cups when they were full, "Rinoa, when is the problem with the money going to be solved?"

Rinoa shrugged and sleepily rested her head in her arms on her kitchen table. Irvine wanted a straight answer, much to her dismay, "So … The Syndicate is officially bankrupt until your little boyfriend decides to give us the money back, is that it?"

Once again, the shrug. "Could you, I don't know, call him, do whatever you have to do so we could at least get a portion of it back until he feels up to giving _all _of it back?" He was patient, or at least, he was trying to be but his soothing façade was ready to crack.

"Do you know how hard it is to talk to him again?" Her voice was barely a whisper, but it was filled with sorrow, with regret and pain.

Irvine left the coffee machine and went to sit down next to his sister. He patted her arm and let her go on, "He wants answers I can't give him." If Squall was so curious, then maybe he had cared once upon a time. And so what was this entire struggle for? How long had she suffered since having betrayed him? But he cared no longer.

Life is filled with irony.

"Why can't you give him the answers, Rinoa?" Irvine asked heavily, seriously, "Why can't you tell him what he deserves to know?"

"Because …" She answered weakly, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes. She shut them, unleashing them but hiding them with the sleeve of her sweater.

"Is it because you're still denying yourself of what you did?" Her brother continued his merciless interrogation, "What did you do, Rinoa? How many secrets are you keeping from him? When you said good-bye to Squall Leonhart, who else did you bury?" _Face it, Rinoa, tell me … I want to hear it for myself. _He wished, prayed. _Tell me it's all lies._

There was a muffled gasp from Rinoa and Irvine sighed, "Tell me, Rin."

She transformed to a mute, refused to speak. Irvine spoke up gently, "Rinoa, my mother recently got murdered. Though this may be a time of celebration for you, she died for a reason, and it's partly my fault. You know why she died?" No answer, only choked sobs, "They were looking for your past. They found it. Everything about Squall and you, every … single thing. I think you should call your father and ask him for enough money to get out of here. I think you should explain everything to him, I think you should explain everything to Squall and then I think you should disappear. Ok?"

"What?" She was trembling, refusing to process the mortifying confessions.

"You're father knows, I don't know about Squall … but someone who would go through that trouble to find you a weakness has to have more ideas going through his mind. Maybe _their _minds, we don't even know who they are, we could only guess. Are you listening to me?" Irvine grabbed her chin in his hand and looked into her frightened, panicked eyes, "This isn't high school anymore, Rinoa. Quistis isn't just threatening to kill you anymore, she really will do it and I have a feeling she's not alone. The stakes are high, leave Deling city before a war breaks out. Trepe, Diabolos, Almasy, Dincht, Lynch, DeGracia, your father, they all want this city … and you're getting in the way."

"Good. I'm not leaving." She quavered, "Prize goes to the one who kills me first."

THE DISTURBING CONVERSATION with Rinoa had shaken him. The girl wanted to die and the only one who could unmake that was Squall Leonhart. What were the chances that he would go through that trouble? She had left him there to die, and the only thing he wanted were answers.

Hope dangling on a string, Irvine dialed a number he wished he needed not dial in the sanctity of his automobile. He was going seek help from one person who he hoped had some mercy remaining in the shallow of his soul, "Hello?"

"Hi … James." Irvine greeted stiffly.

"Irvine, hello."

"Listen, I … apologize for hanging up so curtly last time … I was just … shocked by the news." Weighted with grievance of his mother's death, he managed to overlook that, "In any case, I've come to ask you a huge favor on your part."

There was a lingering silence and then, "Go on."

"Rinoa is like my sister, she _is _my sister. Unless you've been playing a deaf ear to the word on the street, she's been the target of a few conspiracies. DeGracia, Trepe, Almasy, Diabolos and maybe even Lynch probably think she's easiest to eliminate due to The Syndicate's dependence on and lack of alliances. The Wakasenshi are small players, not enough to win a huge turf war like the one that's about to break loose." Irvine paused and resumed his proposition, "Plus, Trepe's never liked her anyway. I figure it like this: I need to get Rinoa out of Deling."

"Well, that's nice. And so why are you calling me for? Asking me if I approve?" Caraway's tone was slightly resentful with sarcasm.

"I wouldn't be wasting my time doing that." His answer was brisk and honest, "I would've already dragged her onto a plane, kicking and screaming. But Squall Leonhart recently swiped our entire bank account. We have no money."

"What a bright asshole."

"Uhm … yeah, I guess you can call him that. In any case, you are her father. You can't keep her alive, but you can help her _exist_." Ellone's theory was leaving his mark on him, "The other part of the favor would be helping me find Squall Leonhart."

There was a never-ending pause where Irvine's nerves seem to be constantly grinded by sandpaper. Finally, his stepfather came down with a decisive tone, "She is my daughter, thank you for reminding me. I'll find Squall Leonhart. I'll also find her. She's been hiding from me long enough, I've been avoiding her long enough. I think it's time we had a talk, anyhow."

"Thank you, James." Irvine was grateful, but uneasy at the same time. How many more times would Rinoa have to be betrayed like this?

"Sure."

NOW AVOIDING HER father would not only become a convenience, but a necessity. Never would she ever be able to look that man in the face again. No big loss, all the more reason to never speak to him again. Ellone was dealt with as soon as she awoke from her elongated pose on the couch. Rinoa had made time to dry her tears after Irvine left her with his last pleads to be rational.

Ellone had met a strong confrontation, a tougher conflict than the splitting headache she suffered at her wake, "Oh no, what have I done now?"

"What the hell could possibly have possessed you to tell Irvine everything I had told you _not _to tell anyone?" She had sworn to herself to keep it civil, to be calm and cool. She knew, as soon as she hit hysterics, she would begin to bawl and never see the end of it.

"What?"

"Why did you tell Irvine about-" Rinoa stopped herself short. She was on the verge of saying 'Arielle'. Was this self-pity she felt right now? No, she felt pathetic. Never in her entire life had she felt so stupid. How many people can say they've honestly taken the time to name their unborn-yet-already-dead child? "Why did you tell him about the abortion?" She found herself choking on the words.

Ellone's eyes tried to focus but failed. She remained silent, searching her mind for the truth. Why the hell had she told him? As she thoroughly thought, she couldn't find a reason that Rinoa would justify to be a good one. Finally, she spoke softly, "Because I loved him and I thought that telling him that would … maybe make him appreciate our relationship more. And I thought wrong, because look at us now."

Rinoa remained shell-shocked. Her 'best-friend' had betrayed her for such a selfish reason, "Well … did you tell your brother? Did you think it would make him appreciate your sibling-relationship better since he would never fuck you so problems like this would never surface?"

Ellone blinked; stunned by the red-hot bullet Rinoa had just fired her way. Rinoa asked her question again, "Well, did you?"

"No. I didn't tell my brother." It wasn't a lie. It was just a mistake that she had forgotten to put the emphasis on the '_I_'. How many times would Rinoa have to be shielded from a truth that would later surface like a bloated, dead corpse?

"Oh, well there's that at least." The sarcasm betrayed her calm tone.

HE WAS A powerful man with a certain expertise; this was child's play. Of course it was, the city was his playground. His minions and his cronies would dig up any information when he needed it and it was as simple as that.

So, he was nothing less than grim with satisfaction at the ease at which he landed upon his, dare he call him, _son-in-law's_ doorstep. _Son-in-law?_ They had never been married. He was ready to jeopardize his entire stock market portfolio at the unlikelihood that they had even considered wedlock. The baby had been an accident. Obviously. She would have aborted in either cases, isn't that right?

Caraway pat his jacket pocket to make sure his handgun was still there. "Ready to play Russian roulette, Leonhart?" He thought dismally. He had actually trusted this boy. "And if he betrayed me, all that would be left to do is kill him." Simple as that, why make life more complicated? Why? Because his daughter loved this man. Apparently. And that is why James Caraway was ready to make his life infinitely more complex.

It's a secret, and don't tell a soul, but James Caraway had little or no intention of killing Squall Leonhart that night. He had to remind himself that as he knocked at the door of his _son-in-law's_ contemporary apartment. He heard the heavy footsteps getting nearer.

Without even considering the peephole (and it wouldhave been a _capital_ idea if he had), Squall swung open the door open and came face to face with his worst nightmare. An angry _father-in-law_ with a gun. But he didn't have much time to contemplate it and recognize it's true depth (a visit from the Grim-Reaper) since the barrel of the weapon slammed down onto his temple.

Caraway took little time in shoveling Squall's body into the apartment and shutting the door behind him, "Hello, Squall."

Squall groaned, temporarily handicapped by the blow. His head lolled on the carpet, blood trickling from his new wound. James cleared his throat and fiddled with his gun like a child with a new toy, "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything." A meow answered him and he turned to see a cat curiously perching over the couch to see what the commotion was about, "Cute. A cat, eh? Are you lonely, boy?"

The younger man thought it was a rhetorical question and that he shouldn't bother answering it. Silence was the wrong answer. Caraway kicked him in the ribs summoning another anguished cry. Squall clutched his abdomen and growled out contemptuously, "No, I appreciated the solitude now that I compare it to this."

James laughed, almost malicious with intent, "Yes, I can imagine." There was a short pause where Squall recovered piteously to a sitting position against the wall, "Squall, I have to be honest with you. The time I tested you, when I asked you if you were ready to play dodge ball … I actually meant, are you ready to play dodge-the-bullet. And unfortunately for you my friend, the silent crosshairs of the sniper have fallen upon you."

Squall only stared, unsure of what Caraway wanted to hear. "Tell me, you're not a very bright boy, are you?" _Please let that one be rhetorical. _"Unless you were feeling suicidal. Is that why you handed me the tape? The tape containing every single one of your vices _knowing _that my daughter, my child, my own damn girl was the victim. Or maybe you were actually honest with me - did you listen to the tape or not?"

Lying was futile now, anyway. "I listened to the tape."

"So, I suppose you're telling me that you're an idiot?"

"Yes, yes, I am."

"Oh, ok … well, now that that's out of the way." Caraway gestured as he spoke, the gun dangerously waving around, "Defend your actions before the jury that is me, Leonhart, cross your heart and hope to die. Tell me your entire story from chapter one and pray to whatever God you think will have mercy on you because I sure as hell won't."

"I didn't know about the kid." What was that supposed to be? An excuse? Judgment day doesn't care for excuses.

"Oh, well that makes an entirety of a difference." James snapped sarcastically, "Here's the way I understand it. My daughter fell in love with an asshole, that asshole knocked her up, hurt her, and fucked her up further. Is that basically what happened?"

"That is … basically what happened." Squall raised his hand to signal he had more to say, "But the only difference, is that the asshole didn't know he was hurting her, and that the asshole might have actually been in love with her too, a fact that the father obviously forgot to consider before knocking the said asshole to the ground."

"You deserve to die." Caraway hissed lethally, "Don't try to sway me with the 'I loved her too' because I don't buy fairytales anymore."

Squall grinned in disbelief, shook his head and raised his open palms in surrender, "You want my story? I'll give you my side of it because I'm still working on finding out her version. I'll be honest, I don't care about the turf wars, I don't give a shit about Trepe, I don't give a shit about Almasy, I don't give a shit about you. This entire city and its criminal empires can go to hell. Christ, after I'm done here, put me on a boat in FH, make me a stockboy in Balamb, fuck, I don't give a shit, but right now, I just want to know where I went wrong because I remember being a pretty damn happy guy back when I was with your daughter and I swear I didn't see any of it coming."

"Oh, cry me a river." Caraway was true to his word: he had no mercy, "Were you deaf? Were you blind? That's not my damn problem."

"What is it that you want?" Squall was desperate, confused, just wanting this conversation to end. He needed to call Rinoa. Needed to give her Lynch's card. Needed his damn answers. Needed to apologize.

Caraway was shaken by the younger man's question. What was it that he wanted? He accepted no apology, believed no story. Revenge. But how? He couldn't kill the boy, Rinoa needed him. Yes, a hard-to-swallow pill. Rinoa may still love this boy. _I don't want to hurt her anymore, Julia. I want to be a good father._

"I want you to make it up to her." The request was firmly stated, "There's only one platinum-haired moron in Deling city that could have possibly pulled off the stunt of my wife's murder and my daughter's uncovered past. His name is Nicolas. I've employed him once or twice. He's a friend of Cain Almasy. I have a feeling Seifer and Quistis are behind this entire mess, which wouldn't be a surprise at all. My daughter has two alternatives before her at the moment. Either she shoots herself, or she lets the killers get her first. Make sure neither happens."

"How do I do that?"

"Resume your old job. Be her loyal puppy once again." The words were stained with bitter irony, "The hell if I know. Set the pieces of the chessboard to her favor then get her out of this city alive. I'll do my part. You do yours and who knows, maybe one day the overwhelming desire to string you up by your ass will subsidize and we'll be able to meet for more pleasant business."

"I can't wait."

Caraway administered him a snide look and replied as he walked back out the door, "I'm sure you can."

Alone once more. _I'm sure you can._

_"I'm sure you can."_

_"Yeah, I really can." He had answered her proudly, "Those guys are weaklings. Actually, I can probably take on two or three at a time." Squall was referring to the wrestlers on television. Pitiful excuses for entertainment. He had been a soldier once. He knew how to fight. Those two-hundred pounders on TV fought like wusses. _

_"Sure, Squall, sure. How's that wrist coming along?" Rinoa teased, cuddling with him on the sofa. She reached over to his other side, rapped her knuckles on the bandage and poked it._

_"It would be a lot better if you stopped touching it every thirty seconds."_

_She laughed and grinned at him, "It feels funny, I can't help it."_

_He sighed and rolled his eyes, "No, you're hallucinating, it doesn't feel any different from the other one."_

_"Yeah it really does. Look, it's all limp …" To emphasize her point she picked it up again and flopped it around as if it were a dead fish, "How did you sprain it again?" There was a glint of mischief in her eyes as she asked the question for the fiftieth time._

_"I tripped in a dark alley and to break my fall I put out my arms forward and I fell on my hand wrong." His voice was monotonous, only having recounted the very same story too many times to keep track._

_"You're a little liar." She knew his story was valid since she had heard him fall herself and had seen his pain-constricted face when they met back at the parking lot (they had been on one of the turf rounds) but she just enjoyed making his life difficult, "What were you really doing?"_

_She bounced off the couch before he could get a hold of her, "Your untruthful, dirty little innuendoes are really starting to piss me off, Rinoa." Squall glared and rose from his seat to follow her. Now, slightly more nervous, she stuck out her tongue and darted for the bedroom where he dashed after her, "Come back here!"_

_"Never!" She jumped onto the bed and stood a few feet higher than him, prepared to make another scurry for the doorway. When he leaped after her, she clambered off and took shelter near the wardrobe, "Wow, you're a lot slower now that you're a degenerate." Once again, her tongue hung out of her mouth in a gesture to peeve him off some more._

_He groaned, knowing it was pointless to try and win this one - she felt exuberant and hyper tonight so there was really no use chasing her around and arguing with her. It would only make her more energetic and aggravating. He flipped onto his back and leaned his head and shoulders onto the bed's headboard._

_"That's pathetic! You're being no fun at all." She accused sourly, wearing the adorable pouting look that fit her so well._

_"I'm tired, Rinoa." Squall replied and closed his eyes as if to suggest naptime._

_"Tired, eh?"_

_"Very … very …" He failed to continue his sentence because she had climbed atop him and pressed her lips to his. She pulled apart and awaited his response with a certain contentment, "Well, tired is an overstatement." Squall opened his eyes and masked a serious look, "I'm not … you know, THAT tired. I'm still capable of some physical activity, know what I mean?"_

_She did. Rinoa leaned in and whispered on his neck, "My poor, poor, impaired little handyman. What ever shall I do to make it up to you?" She kissed his Adam's apple, then his chin, then his lips. Once again, her tongue wasn't in her mouth anymore but he didn't mind so much._

Squall leaned his head on the wall and sighed. "In how many ways is it possible to miss someone?" He groaned and gently banged the back of his skull onto the wall continuously, making soft thumping noises, attempting fruitlessly to sleek the lust that sunk his aching heart further into melancholy.__

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles:** Well, back again for another edition of Devil's Playground. [presses play and a cheering crowd is heard from the speakers behind her] Thank you, thank you all, you're too kind. So, instead of getting a job like a normal person would, I decided to go for 'Idiot of the Year' and sign up for cooking classes, be the editor-in-chief of the school's yearly literary magazine, join the school newspaper, possibly audition for the position of MC for a talent-night evening and possibly join the local gym to get all buff and sexy (yes, I should dream on, I know but let a girl have her hopes).

Nonetheless, I will continue to work on this fic - I never start something I don't finish. Actually, I'm eventually thinking of re-vamping Devil's Playground entirely and making it into a novel that would be my very own creation. Of course that would mean more than just 'changing the names' for I would be tweaking with the personalities and some of the story flow. This fic is far from perfect so, you know ... the more I'll work at it, the more it'll improve (yes, I should dream on, I know but let a girl have her hopes).

So this week, whether or not this chapter had any effect on you, I urge you to perform your readerly duties and submit a review. It takes only a short second and a half to say 'I liked it' or 'Needs improvement' or just simply, 'Fuck you'. So please, tell me what you thought for your support is the infinite energy that pumps me up to write more. Encourage the writers and please leave a review (yes, I should dream on, I know but let a girl have her hopes).

a) Good

b) Fair

c) Mediocre

d) Poor


	19. Devil's Dance Floor

**Devil's Dance Floor**

"Ohh _Seifer_?" The voice coaxed from the shadows. The president of Daily Post sighed and stopped short in the darkened hallways of his corporate building.

"Hello Quistis." He greeted without turning around. Night had fallen. His schedule had only commenced and she was a distraction once more. How had she gotten in anyway? Damn those guards who were fooled by her pretentious charm. Had they no spine?

"Why have you stopped calling me?" She demanded slyly, with hurt faking through, "I was beginning to miss you."

"Of course you were, hunny." It was dark; he took the liberty of rolling his eyes. Why hadn't he noticed how annoying she was when she tried to be cute? Suddenly, it was as if her voice had become shrill to his ears, grinding down on his nerves. Seifer felt her arms wrap around him and his aggravation peaked to a vertex, "I stopped calling you, because you're beginning to slow me down."

"What?" Quistis asked incredulously, "Slowing you down? I was waiting for you, _hunny_." She let go of him and pushed him away roughly, "All week you've been bragging about that damn tape containing Rinoa Heartilly's flaws and I haven't gotten a glimpse of it yet! How am I slowing you down?"

She was never one to take accusations. Quistis Trepe was a woman who could do nor say any wrong. Seifer grinned wickedly, "So, how's the lion? Have you heard from Squall Leonhart yet?"

There was a pause and Quistis replied simply, nonchalantly, "No, I haven't. Why is it of sudden importance? There are a million men like him in Deling, I don't need _him _especially."

"You want to know why he hasn't called you?" Seifer asked snidely, sniggering, "Or did you figure that out on your own?"

Quistis clicked her tongue and gestured disbelievingly, "Enlighten me."

"He hasn't called you because he's got no intention of hurting Rinoa Heartilly. None. At all." There was a silence that Seifer broke without shame, tearing at her pride mercilessly, "_You _got duped. Squall Leonhart is _with _Rinoa. Unbelievable, I know! Something maybe you should have checked into."

Quistis chewed on her fingernails, "Ok, so what?"

"So what? I'll tell you. You're a stupid broad." Seifer snapped, "You think he's working for you? Think you can control your little puppet? Let me tell you, Squall will do whatever he wants and he favors Rinoa over you. And frankly, so do I. The girl pays attention to her business while you stay home and give orders to your damned secretary! Might have less of a body, but has more of a brain. That's good, I'd rather go with that."

Quistis slapped him in the face and screamed in a fit of anger, "Fuck off!"

His jaw stinging in pain, Seifer grabbed her wrists and tightened his grip enough to know he was hurting her, "Listen up, Quisty. My priorities in this city don't seem to match yours and that's a problem in something we call a good alliance. You're hindering me from my goals and I can't have that. Maybe you should stop being a damn blonde once in a while and I'll consider putting you in my address book. It's really not that hard, I assure you, Rinoa's already made it into the club."

Quistis let out an anguished cry, half out of pain, and half out of rage. Seifer piteously went on, "At the moment, I'll have to ask you to haul your ass from this building before I call my guards and this time, their jobs are on the line so don't think batting your eyelashes will work. Take your dirty little Spaniard dog with you too, another idiot right there."

"You'll pay."

"Don't worry, I'm not lacking in the money department."

"Money can't save you where you're going." Quistis spat, thrashing from his grasp. He let go but it was as if she still felt the pressure of his grip on her wrist. Without another word, she turned from the hallway and stomped out of the building, even more disgusted with Rinoa Heartilly ... if that was possible.

_What the hell is so special about her?_

"IT'S ALMOST AS if you _want _to die." Irvine had gawked disbelievingly when Rinoa appeared in the private office of the Midnight Music club. It wasn't much of an office, more like a private lounge. There was a mini-bar, for one (not the best thing to have around when you wanted to do business) and three modern couches besides the desk and the leather office chair that Irvine was loafing on.

"You know, the supreme irony in life is that no one gets out alive anyway." She replied cynically and strode over to the mini-bar where she served herself a drink.

"Still drinking like a fish, I see."

"I don't remember crowning you my father." Another curt response. She was feeling perfectly irritable at the moment present but her mood seemed to take a vicious u-turn as there was a knocking sound at the door, "Come in."

The door opened and in stepped the strawberry blonde businessman, still in his work clothes, "Hey." He smirked at Irvine and at Rinoa, "Mind my dropping in?"

_What the fuck is he doing here, holy shit, what the hell does he want? _Irvine went into a panic mode. This was it. He had come here to kill. There was a shotgun down one pant leg, he could sense it, "Hi ... Seifer. What a pleasant surprise." He hoped he didn't sound _too _worried.

"Hiya Seifer." Rinoa answered indifferently but couldn't help grinning at what he held in one hand.

"Brought you a cactus." Seifer held up the ugly plant with one hand and deposited it on the coffee table, "Heard you liked them."

"How unbearably sweet." She remarked, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

What ... 

_The ... _

_Fuck ... _Irvine attempted his unmoved façade but failed miserably. What the hell was going on? He'd sure like to know, but how to ask? "Yeah, gotta admit, its wonderful decoration." Irvine received a raised eyebrow from his sister but continued on as apathetically as the moment allowed, "So, what do we owe the honor of this visit?"

"Just wanted to hang out, that's all."

"And the skeletons in your closet?" Rinoa drawled, taking a sip of her drink.

"All gone, I swear." He smiled genuinely and scratched the back of his neck.

Rinoa answered with a skeptical, "Sure." 

After small, deliberate chitchat, Seifer persuaded them to proceed to the second floor and play a friendly game of pool. Rinoa accepted gleefully, not having sunk an eight ball in a while. Irvine declined, having been humiliated enough by his sister for a lifetime.

As Seifer broke and no balls were pocketed, Rinoa claimed the solids and maneuvered her skills to sink in two of her patterns. She smirked smugly and proceeded to massacre her opponent. Irvine watched in awe. How the hell had she become so good again? If Rinoa's stepbrother had been God for a day, he would have banned women from pool tables altogether.

"I'm going to go get myself a drink." The cowboy declared as he watched his sister sink in yet another ball. Seifer looked as if he were in deep, deep emotional pain.

"Have fun." Rinoa replied absent-mindedly eyeing a potential combo.

He strode away from the slaughter and looked down to the crowd below. A large sea of a mob was 'moshing' on the dance floor as an upbeat tune blared from the speakers. He leaned over on the railing and observed the scene, "God, we need to get rid of some strobe lights. It's an epileptic's worst nightmare, Jesus!" He blinked and looked around.

What caught his eye was an ever so familiar figure leaning over the bar downstairs. That guy was looking around too ... right at _him_. Irvine recognized the features of the man instantly, _"Shit ... oh shit."_

SQUALL IDENTIFIED THE flamboyant cowboy hat on the second floor. He leered, "Hi Irvine." He said to himself, "Go get your sister, doggie ... go get her." Squall took a sip of his beer, his eyes not leaving his target, "Come on, boy ... your pissing yourself, aren't you? Who else is here tonight? Is it Seifer? Yes it is, yes it is. But you know your sis will make time for me ... you know she will ... go fetch."

AS SQUALL THOUGHT the last mocking jeer, Irvine, as if on cue with the commencing song, left the ramp and went back to the pool table, "Sorry to interrupt your pool game, Rinoa, come with me." Irvine grabbed her arm and led her to the railing bordering the upstairs balcony, "Look at the bar."

Rinoa, confused and slightly resentful from being pulled from pocketing an eight ball and seeing Seifer's ego slithering on the floor like a worm, scanned the bar and locked her sights on what had Irvine so jumpy. She smiled. Then reminded herself of what his presence symbolized. _"He has my demands. I have to meet his. Oh ... damn it, I don't want to." _But she didn't have much a choice.

"Keep Seifer busy."

"You know, we could just ask the bouncer to take him outside." Irvine was set on shielding his sister from as much harm as he could, though she seemed to be bent on not dodging a single bullet.

"Or, you know ... you could just mind your own business." Rinoa suggested lightly and moved away towards the stairs. Irvine groaned and went back to the pool table where Seifer was waiting, almost glaring at the lack of solid balls on the table and the abundance of striped ones.

"Rinoa had some business to take care of." Irvine informed monotonously, "If you want, I'll play a game of pool with you."

"Uh ... yeah sure, as long as you don't suck as much as her." Seifer bluffed. If one with keen eyesight were to observe, they would find a grotesquely large amount of Seifer's ego on the floor, being stepped on.

_Her breath began to speak_

_As she stood right in front of me_

_The color of her eyes_

_Were the color of insanity_

_Crushed beneath her wave_

_Like a ship, I could not reach the shore_

_We're all just dancers_

_On the Devil's Dance floor_

IT SEEMED TO take forever for her to get down the stairs. With the amount of people in the Midnight Music club, hundreds were on the dance floor and the rest were gallivanting about like wild banshees, going back and forth from the bar downstairs to the pool tables upstairs since the bartender on the second floor refused to serve if you lacked the V.I.P. card. Traffic slowed her journey to him and with each of her cautious step, Squall's nerves burned a little more. Now that he thought of it, she was probably doing this on purpose.

TAKING HER TIME was the wisest choice available to her at the moment. How many seconds till self-destruction? _Three._ She made it past the crowded stairway and descended onto the dance floor, cautiously slipping past the wired dancers. _Two. _Past the diluting crowd that led to the bar. _One. _

He stared at her, waiting for her to break the silence. It wasn't his job anyway. Rinoa attempted to yell atop of the music, "So, why didn't you invite yourself upstairs?" Though her lungs were capable structures, they couldn't bury the blast of noise from the speakers. He gave her a confused look and motioned that he couldn't hear a goddamn thing. Rinoa made a mental note to rid the club of a couple of sub-woofers on the main floor, grabbed him by the collar and jerked him towards her.

_Well Swing a little more,_

_Little more o'er the merry-o_

_Swing a little more,_

_A little more next to me_

_Swing a little more,_

_Little more o'er the merry-o_

_Swing a little more,_

_On the Devil's Dance Floor_

Squall, shell-shocked that she was actually touching him again, didn't have time to think only to feel her soft lips close to his ear and to make out the words she spoke in a slightly elevated tone, "Why didn't you invite yourself upstairs?"

Rinoa was also one stunned by her actions but tried to mask it with a certain indifference, "Oh holy shit, I just grabbed him and ..." She thought, panicked. How would he react? Would he shove her away and ask what the hell she was thinking? Ellone's voice practically rang in her ears, "_You need to get laid."_

Instead of pushing her or demanding what had possessed her to do that, Squall secretly enjoyed being this close to her and replied back in her ear, "Shitkickers only."

They pulled away from each other and she smiled, almost gratefully. Rinoa gestured for him to follow her. Once again, they paved their way through the intense crowd and clambered up a different staircase that led to the management 'office'. "So ... do you have my money and Viktor Lynch?" She asked as she shut the door, sealing the bureau from the unbearable noise.

_Pressed against her face_

_I could feel her insecurity_

_Her mother'd been a drunk_

_And her father was obscurity_

_But nothin' ever came_

_From a life that was a simple one_

_So pull yourself together girl_

_And have a little fun_

Squall stopped short at her words. She seemed fine. Where was the proof that Rinoa had ever really lost anything in all this? Maybe the baby had been a wake-up call? 'Time to move on, this guy is dragging you down.' The present Rinoa seemed fine, maybe she wanted that abortion, maybe she wanted him out of her way, maybe she really meant everything she said. _I'm sorry baby. I'm a girl with big ambitions ... and you, you're just small time. _He felt his heart pinch and he winced.

"I've got fifty percent of what you asked." He replied, suddenly cold with contempt. _Damn it, Rinoa ... sonofabitch._

"Fifty percent? Oh, come on." He saw her roll his eyes and his fists balled, a rush of frustration running up and down his body like electricity, "Stop playing around with it, Squall ... where's the other fifty?"

His eyes followed her to behind the mini-bar and watched as she served herself a drink. Squall strode over closer, fished in his back jean pocket to fetch Viktor's number. He flipped it onto the table. Rinoa glanced at it, and fixated back into his sapphire orbs, "And the money? Wasn't that the easiest thing to get?"

_I'm sorry, hunny, I was so excited to rush over here like a good little doggy with the newspaper so I could get maybe a belly rub or a scratch behind the ear that I completely forgot the other part of our bargain. See, if this were the times of before, you would have slyly smirked at me, tease me and still give me my just reward. _Squall mentally cursed himself but decided to pretend that his negligence was done purposely, "You don't deserve that yet."

_Well she took me by the hand_

_I could see she was a fiery one_

_Her legs ran all the way_

_Up to Heaven and past Avalon_

_Tell me somethin' girl, _

_What it is you have in store_

_She said come with me now_

_On the Devil's Dance Floor_

"Don't I?" She took out a beer from the mini-fridge and tossed it to him. He caught it and popped off the cap, took a sip and sat down on one of the bar stools. Rinoa avoided his eyes and asked, "What makes you claim that ever so boldly?"

"I don't know. Might be the fact that these past years have been quite the pain in the ass because of you." Squall snapped harshly, deciding to empty his bags of accusations, "And hasn't your mom ever told you that people find it annoying when you confuse them? First you put me in jail, then you decide to bail me and hand me some money ..." He gestured sarcastically, "No? Well, it's annoying. So give me explanations."

First reaction was shock and that led to anger. Rage even. _"You know what I think of you?" _She thought maliciously, maybe hoping he would receive her thoughts through some inexistent telepathy, _"You're an asshole, a jerk, a fucker, a prick. I don't understand why I've been bringing this guilt upon myself for our failed fucking imaginary attempt at a relationship when all along I could have just opened my eyes and saw that this is all your fault."_

"_This is your fault, Squall Leonhart."_

"_This is all your fault."_

"_And I'm not afraid to say it out loud." _She caught his eye and asked viciously, "You know what I think of you?" But stopped short. _"Don't lose control, don't let him see the real you. Lie to him. Think quickly. Stall." _

_Well Swing a little more,_

_Little more o'er the merry-o_

_Swing a little more,_

_A little more next to me_

_Swing a little more,_

_Little more o'er the merry-o_

_Swing a little more,_

_On the Devil's Dance Floor_

Squall raised his eyebrows in a sign for her to continue, "What?"

"_Think quickly. Stall." _Rinoa stared defiantly back at him and began, "You, Squall Leonhart, are like ice. You're so cold ..." She looked deeply in his eyes to make sure that he was paying attention to her, and only her as she casually picked up a cube of ice from an ice tray on the counter and closed her fist around it, "Yet you still melt in my hand." Squall arched an eyebrow as she opened her palm, exposing the water that dripped down her fingers, "And I can see right through you." She smiled and downcast her eyes from his face, "But you can still send me skidding on my ass." An emerging victory swelled in her gut, _"Nice save but why were you complimenting him, dipshit? No matter, it'll make him believe nothing is wrong. Play the game."_

"Oh yeah?" He replied, unsure if he was faking the surprise or if he was actually shaken by the declaration, "You take up poetry now?" He brought the bottle of beer to his lips and took a swig. She didn't answer and avoided his eyes, "So ... entertain me a bit ... what's your metaphor on Quistis Trepe?" The words were meant to annoy her.

"Quistis Trepe's a bitch. She just barks one helluva lot but her leash is so short that she never gets to bite." Rinoa replied without missing a beat, her gaze snapped back to meet his defiantly. _"He's trying to get you going, don't fall for it. Play the game. Think quickly. Stall."_ She dropped the cube back into the box and dried her wet hand on her jeans.

"I'm guessing the length of her leash is the comparison to her astuteness?" The taller man took another sip of his drink and awaited the response of the beautiful woman.

"You said it, not me." She responded indifferently, washing her hands clean of her own theory, "But yes, as a matter a fact ... it is." 

"A bitch that you fear, no matter what her intelligence quotient is." Squall stated calmly, observing her every facial feature, looking for a weakness, an emotion. Her mind set aflame, _"Act like nothing is wrong. Play the game. Talk to him like you used to. Think quickly. Stall."_

"She has an intelligence quotient?" Rinoa gasped in false surprise, "My, oh my ... you learn something every day. And no, I'm not afraid of her. There's a difference between holding fear for someone and just plain out hating them. Isn't that right, Squall?" Her eyes narrowed to his.

_The apple now is sweet_

_Oh much sweeter than it ought to be_

_Another little bite_

_I don't think there is much hope for me_

_The sweat beneath her brow_

_Travels all the way_

_An' headin' south_

_The bleedin' heart's cryin'_

_Cause there's no way out_

He flinched slightly and drank some more alcohol, "I agree completely." He downed the remaining drops of the beer and cleared his throat, "You know ... the poet thing ... it's catchy. If I could compare you to anything, Rinoa ... it would be a mirror. You tend to reflect what you see in other people." He picked up his jacket and slipped into it.

"Ouch." Rinoa smiled sardonically, "That one stung, Squall ... I'm hurt." Meanwhile thinking, _"Let him play by his rules, you play by yours. Stall." _She leaned against the counter, "So, are you Trepe's lapdog now?" 

"She's a bitch, I'm her lapdog. It's a dog's world, huh?" He adjusted his collar a bit and turned to face her, "But no, I'm not her lapdog. I'm just the handsome errand boy."

"_Now it's in your court. You could've been an actress. Prove it to yourself. Stall." _Her eyes lit up in surprise and a sincere smile tickled the corners of her mouth, "I can believe that." She paused, "And don't be so hard on yourself. You aren't just handsome, you're gorgeous. Actually, let's extend that remark and go all the way to 'sexy'." She smirked and he smiled back. "Don't let her rape you or anything, I heard she can be quite the _dominatrix_."

He laughed genuinely and mentally cursed himself for losing his poker face, "Don't worry about me ... after being shot in the shoulder, I think a bitch with a short leash shouldn't pose a threat." He reclaimed his chilly attitude.

The driving voice echoing in her mind faded. Enter stage left as guilt rears its ugly head. "I could've killed you." Rinoa offered, her eyes avoiding his for numerous times that night. _"Why isn't he grateful? Because ... because why should he be?"_

"Well, why the Hell didn't you?" He snapped back, suddenly annoyed. _"Why didn't I? I killed my baby, why couldn't I have killed him too?"_ Why did she let him live the torments of a dank jail cell, the feeling of helplessness ... the searing hurt that cut at his heart every day? She was taking the knife she had stabbed him with and was twisting and turning it, carving her name in his insides ... why hadn't she saved him from the pain? She didn't answer, evading his cold eyes that told so much. When no reply came from her he turned towards the door and went towards it.

"_No, don't go." _She stopped him, "I want to cut a deal. A mutual understanding, just between the two of us. No papers, no blood oaths. A simple agreement based on two people who want to survive." He stopped as he approached the door and stood on the balls of his feet until she spoke again, "Do I have your attention?" She asked hesitantly.

He turned on a 90-degree angle and looked at her pretty face from the corner of an eye, "Undividedly." He replied, fist clenching in a mental preparation for what she was about to propose.

She cleared her throat nervously and folded her hands in her lap, "How's this - Don't deal with Quistis anymore, give me half of the money that you stole and we'll call it even."

"What about the answers?"

She rolled her eyes impatiently, "Answers? What answers? I don't _know _the answers to today's crossword, I don't _know _the answer of the math question in the back of my cereal box, I'm sorry I can't help you." It was a slew of sarcasm that aggravated him further. 

"I don't care about those answers either. What I want are the answers only you can give me because _you _are the only one who knows what goes on in that screwed up little mind of yours."

"Ok, so I'll think about it."

"No, you won't." He countered aggressively, "You'll just _do it_. Alright? So the next time I walk into this crack-whore place, let's skip the pleasantries and get straight to the shit, how does that sound, Rinoa?" He didn't wait for a response; he headed for the door once more.

"Fuck you." She hissed at his back. _"Think quickly. Stall."_

Squall stopped short and looked at her, "What?" 

Rinoa faked an innocent look, "Oh nothing, I've just been waiting to say that to you for so, damn long. And now, I have ... fuck you."

He smirked, "Pleasure was all mine."

_Well Swing a little more,_

_Little more o'er the merry-o_

_Swing a little more,_

_A little more next to me_

_Swing a little more,_

_Little more o'er the merry-o_

_Swing a little more,_

_On the Devil's Dance Floor_

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: **For once, I'm going to write something intelligent here. I hope you were observant enough to realize that when Rinoa is trying to be strong and convincing, she doesn't talk in first person and when her defenses crumble, she does. What's the point? Figure it out on your own. The girl's schizophrenic. No, I lied, she's not. But admit, she does have mental issues.Also, notice my little technique of turning Squall and Rinoa against each other ... just to make things more complicated.

Now, the song featured in this chapter is Devil's Dance Floor by the Celtic rock band Flogging Molly. I recently went to Warped Tour and this song happened to be my first mosh pit. It was ... an experience, I'll say that much. I would suggest downloading this song for NEW kinds of music. The lyrics seemed the fit in with the chapter so I thought, "Eh, what the hell ..." It was originally supposed to be You Spin Me Right Round (Like a Record) by Dope but ... changed me mind.

It's also my birthday today (September 18th - I'm a virgo ... ::a halo floats inches above her head as a blinding light washes onto her::) so please ... please ... please review? It's all I ask for an opinion! Do submit a review, it IS my Sweet Sixteen (boo-yaaa!).

Speaking of 'boo-yaa!', check out my profile page and you'll see that the wonderful Sailor-Nova-S from has submitted one AWESOME fanart of a particular scene in Devil's Playground that I'm sure you all enjoyed ... well, I hope you all enjoyed.

Review or it'll make me cry and I'll drown your puppies, MAHAHAH!! ::cackles like a witch and flies off on a broomstick:: (so much for keeping it intelligent).

a) Excellent

b) Fair

c) Mediocre

d) Poor


	20. On her Hands and Knees

_I know what died that night._

_It can never be brought back to life once again,_

_I know. _

_I know I died that night _

_And I'll never be brought back to life._

_Once again, I know._

_-Bleed Black by AFI_

**On Her Hands and Knees**

It was just like the Speed trip that had sent her to Hell a few years back. Periodically, every hour, on the hour, she woke sweating, her heart palpitating to an unhealthy rhythm, sending her scrambling out of bed towards the bathroom in a fit of nausea where she would vomit bile, as she hadn't eaten at all the previous day.

As she splashed another cupful of ice tap water on her face, she happened to glance up at the mirror where she saw something unfamiliar. It was worst than Trepe. The reflection was like an undefeatable arch-nemesis. Dark semi-circles had slipped under her eyes ... her eyes ... bloodshot enough as they were, now had an empty, vacant stare.

It had been an overnight transformation, or had it? No, obviously not. This was a monster than had been waiting to surface ever since Squall Leonhart had been left to die. What did they call this monster? Guilt? No, this was beyond guilt. This was pathetic, that's what it was.

Morning was a blessing, when it finally did come after an eternally tormenting night that never seemed to relent with nightmares that had been haunting her for months, and others that were freshly plucked from Morpheus' wicked garden for her viewing pleasure only. There was usually blood. A lot of blood. Her own. What irked her was that she was holding the knife. Or sometimes it was Squall who held it.

And other times she saw Arielle. Rather what would have been Arielle. Arielle was always beautiful, with jet black, sleek hair and azure eyes that would make angels envious. Yes, Arielle was always beautiful the few seconds before an invisible force ripped her tiny body apart, and once again the blood. In these past nights, Rinoa had seen so much blood that when she closed her eyes, the imprint of crimson remained.

The first thing she did when she 'woke' from her 'sleep' was call Irvine. She told him she wasn't feeling well. Told him it was a cold. She knew he didn't buy it but his uncertainty wasn't her problem. He attempted to question her but she replied that she was extremely tired, much too tired to talk to him and so she hung up without even biding him a friendly good-bye.

Swallowing four Advils (two over the permitted six hour consumption rate) she prayed to the God above to help her with this headache. Advils weren't miracle workers but He was, she reasoned, and she had been a somewhat good Christian for the past months. No sexual relations, sometimes fasting for days, the swallowing of her pride. She had no Gods other than Him, she hadn't used His name in vain. Ok, that last one was a lie but shush ... how many eyes could He have? He couldn't possibly have been watching her _all _the time. Like when she dropped the bottle of shampoo on her toes in the shower. God wasn't a peeping Tom, was He?

She didn't even bother to look in her fridge for something to eat. She wasn't hungry; it was as simple as that. Rinoa had barely eaten in the past two weeks ... ever since Squall had been out of jail. It wasn't usually healthy to not be hungry, her mother had told her that many times when she refused to eat her vegetables and meat claiming she was full until dessert but mommy wasn't there to check on her anymore so she fasted guiltlessly.

If Julia were alive, things would have been much more different. Rinoa would have been a successful, renowned, high profile lawyer like her mother had wanted her to be. She would be married to a handsome, rich young fellow with no scars to show ... a CEO of a big company, maybe. Hell, throw in a kid and a dog. A comely home in the suburbs and no Porsche ... more like a four-door Mercedes with a baby seat in the back. Probably a champagne-colored one.

Squall Leonhart wouldn't ring a bell. Neither would the Devil's Playground.

Every Sunday, they'd happily prance over to the Caraway's to have lunch. They'd talk about the stock market, about the child ... either a Lily or a Richard, about how lucky they'd all be. Unlike now. Where there was no husband, no child, no dogs, no luck.

But Julia could never have reproached her daughter for failing to attempt at a good life. Her father had been successful at what he did, and she was equally equipped to lead the very same lifestyle he did. Rinoa had tried. With a man opposite of what her mother would have suggested. Rinoa had tried for the Lily or the Richard ... or rather, the Arielle. And she had failed.

Julia understood, didn't she? "He's good, mom, I swear he is. I love him. Isn't that what counts? I love him so much. And I want this baby. And we'll keep it and so isn't that what counts?" No, obviously it wasn't. No, God had other plans for her. That's why He took it all away. Wasn't that it? God had a plan.

It made Rinoa sick. Furious with a twisted, ill stomach. _God had a fucking plan, did He? _She couldn't see the plan ... it failed to strike her, "Yeah, great plan. I'm such a sweet little angel that He's decided to take me away from Hell early."

Maybe it was that morning that Rinoa stopped believing God was there. It may just have been that very morning when her faith, planted in her soul by her mother at a tender toddler age, just shattered ... disappeared ... the shards falling to her feet. There was nothing left. No one was listening anymore. No one had been listening for years.

Early that morning, as Rinoa fell onto her hands and knees, she stopped believing in God. And God stopped believing in her.

But God wasn't the only thing she stopped believing in. She dismissed Arielle as though her unborn daughter had never existed. Rinoa forgot she ever had a mother. She had a father, but he was a drunkard. An idiot. She hadn't seen him in years. And who was Squall Leonhart? She didn't need Squall Leonhart. He had been small time. He had been a nice toy. But she wasn't a child anymore.

No, toys get old and broken so fast. Now she needed something new. After a refreshing, cleansing shower she hid the broken pieces of her soul underneath a mask of make-up. She hadn't worn cover-up since she had been sixteen and even then, it was to hide the tiny pimples on her forehead.

The last glance at the mirror wasn't so threatening anymore. She liked this new façade. It was cool, impressive ... seductive even. Her lips were glossy ... like a magazine model. Squall wouldn't have liked that, "he liked his women natural", but why did he even matter anymore? He didn't. Her lashes were long and darker than usual. He might have like that though. But who cared? She certainly didn't.

She decided on a skirt and a blouse. She was feeling rebellious so the skirt happened to be the shortest in the wardrobe, but hell, she _was _trying to reel in a new toy ... so obviously there had to be some sort of bait involved, right? And that's how she ended up on Cain's doorstep. Well, she _did _havemore than one motive here. Seifer was being suspicious again and who better to rely on to spill some secrets than his own brother?

Cain, who obviously had thought it a holiday today, answered the door in boxers and a t-shirt. His hair was wet from the recently taken shower and he certainly had a look of bewilderment on his face as he stared at the newly transformed Rinoa Heartilly, "What in the Hell possessed _you_ this morning?" He examined her from head to toe.

"Pardon me?"

"Nice legs." He remarked, his eyes traveling south of her face but not _that_ down south.

"Hey, thanks, it'd be great if you were actually _looking _at my legs ... I would actually _not_ even mind that much because then you wouldn't be staring at my-"

"Yeah, yeah ... ok ... someone might hear you, I've been trying to get this homosexual rumor about me going so keep it down, will you? What would the other's think if they heard I was staring at some chick's chest?" He snapped back sarcastically and motioned for her to come inside. She grinned and casually accepted his invitation. "Ok, how may I help you?"

"So ... what's suddenly jumped up your brother's ass? He seems ... friendly. Too friendly. Almost _not _cocky. I mean ... last night he came to visit ... brought me a wonderful plant ... let me rape his dignity by crushing him at pool, not that it was evitable in the first place ... and he didn't even try to get in my pants afterwards. Explain _that._" Rinoa glanced around the apartment with a quick eye and saw the awful mess that surrounded her. The regular bachelor pad, what else was new?

"Hah, nice try but I don't believe in the apocalypse." She remained silent and raised an eyebrow at him so he continued uncertainly, "Holy shit, don't tell me you're not joking."

Rinoa smirked and declared the three words with an overly dramatic staccato tone, "I'm ... not ... joking."

Cain mimicked a child covering his mouth with his hand as though he had uncovered something so amazing and world-shattering. It made Rinoa smile. He continued on in a whispering tone as if there was a spell he could break if he spoke any louder, "Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes ... it worries me. What is he up to?"

"I wish I could tell you." Cain answered, pushing past her into the heart of the apartment, "Want anything to drink? I've got coffee, scotch and other varieties of liquor."

"Do you have anything people normally drink in the morning? Like orange juice ... or milk?" Rinoa asked, almost in a drawl.

Cain raised his right eyebrow and cleared his throat, "How old are you? Five?"

"Tchh, forget it then." She replied indifferently, "Anyway, don't you need milk to cook stuff once in a while?" Rinoa placed her hands on her hips giving her the appearance of a scolding girlfriend.

"I cook?"

"Good point." She accorded him this battle shamelessly and pounced on bigger topics, "So, you seriously have no idea what your brother's scheming in that insane little mind of his? Because I really am suspicious. Rather ... _curious_. And worried, can't forget the worried part."

"I swear, cross my heart and hope to die ..." He drew a cross over his heart to accompany his promise, "If I knew, I'd tell you. The bastard hasn't been telling me jack shit lately. It's all, 'Hey, Cain ... go fetch me a cup of coffee.' Or 'Hey, want to mail these envelopes for me?' ... I'm under the impression of being a six year-old and helping my father out in the office." He was _this _close to mentioning the tape Seifer had ordered but decided against it.

Rinoa pinched his cheek, hard, "Aw, poor baby doesn't feel important."

"Ow, ow, ow!" Cain scowled and pried her hand off his cheek, "Hate to have _you _as an aunt."

"Suck it up, I used to have those two-hundred pounders that crushed my spine with their hugs and my lungs with their perfume." Rinoa informed in a haughty tone.

"Speaking of being crushed ... remember when we went to that concert way back, we must have been seventeen, before you started this Syndicate garbage?" Cain asked, sporting a genuine smile. Rinoa grinned and he continued, knowing she remembered perfectly well, "Man, that bruise lasted for weeks, didn't it?"

"Months, actually ... it turned five different colors too." She declared resentfully, "And it was gross, and it hurt. Mosh pits shouldn't even exist. They're just retarded orgies with a bunch of freaks."

"You liked it."

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, until I got socked in the ribs. Want me to show you the pain I felt?" She balled her hand into a strong fist.

"No!" Cain took a few steps back, clutched his stomach as if to shield himself from the blow he thought she would have the guts to deliver, "It's fine, ok, I get you. Where was the bruise again?" He cautiously approached her and she glared at him, "Huh, I really don't remember ... like was it-?"

"Don't touch me." She snapped mischievously and pushed his wandering hand away, "I'll scream rape." Rinoa stuck her tongue out like the five-year old Cain had accused her of being.

How playful lovers can be, no matter their age. "I can give you something to scream about." He smirked, ever so much like his brother. Cain prowled forward like a lion hunting an antelope, slowing pawing the soft ground beneath him as if to test its solidity. Rinoa backed two steps for his every one, a malicious smile teasing the corners of her lips. Second thoughts? Plenty. But no time to plan escape, there was a wall behind her.

Trapped. She was afraid. How could she not be? Here was her old 'college' boyfriend with a recognizable look on his face. Yeah, she knew that look all too well. It used to turn her on ... it was pure ecstasy when she could pry _that _look from him but ideas change. People change. Feelings change. Rinoa closed her eyes. Cain leaped at the opportune moment.

It had been too long. Just too long. His lips were familiar to hers, recognizable. She liked that. They weren't soft lips ... they never had been. Cain's lips were rough, as were his kisses ... like Squall's. God, how he kissed like Squall. But he wasn't the man she was thinking of. So when his tongue forced its way into her mouth, an instant reflex was to push him away.

Cain reluctantly acquiesced her request and murmured, "What?"

Their faces stood inches apart as he waited for his answer. His emerald eyes, his damp blond hair that stuck up as if he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket ... Rinoa imagined hard. His green-hued eyes were slowly made out as sapphire blue ... and his hair ... she slipped her hands behind his neck and reached up to the back of his scalp and ruffled his hair till it got that messy look, "Nothing."

She shut her eyes tightly, pretending hard, convincing herself. _There's nothing wrong with this. _She told herself, _It's just been too long. _This time, when their lips met, it was Squall who kissed her. It was his tongue. Even as Cain's robust hands slipped onto her thigh, it was still Squall. She let off a whimper on the mouth that was pressed against hers. Squall's. Even Cain's slightly juvenile groans could be transformed to be similar to Squall's rugged growls.

And when they made love, it was Squall again. It felt nice to be caressed in his timber arms trying so lovingly to be gentle. With every soft gasp, her body inched towards a blissful satisfaction.

But when it was over, when her eyes opened to reality ... Squall wasn't there. _What have I done? _She shivered and _Cain _wrapped his arms around her waist. They had made it from the living room to the bedroom and she had been too busy 'pretending' to even notice. Rinoa felt _Cain's _lips on her neck, "No, don't." She pleaded.

"What is it?" _Cain _asked, slightly hurt at his rejected advances.

"Just stop, _Cain_." There, she had said his name. It got caught in her throat, but it had still made it out. _Cain. Not Squall. Cain. Look what you've done, you fuck-up. _"Oh shit." She touched her temples at the oncoming headache. Her breath got caught with her words, her lungs constricted with a sharp pang of pain.

Cain looked at her worried, "Rinoa, are you ok?"

_No, you idiot, you're nothing but a jackass. _"Yeah, I'm fine." She answered curtly, "Just ... everything's fine." He kissed her cheek uncertainly. _You're a moron, Cain ... what are you doing? Are you blind?_

"I want to take you away from all this." Cain whispered close to her ear, "You shouldn't be here at the moment." _I know, I should be in someone else's arms. _"Don't trust Seifer, don't trust Quistis ... they're planning to kill you, you know ..." _If only they'd hurry up. _"Come with me ..." _No ..._

"No, Cain ... I don't think that's a good idea at all." She whispered back hoarsely.

"What do you mean?" He gave her a confused look, and he looked so much like Nick while doing so that it made her squirm, "Rinoa, seriously, what's the ma-" Her index finger pressed on his lips to shush him.

"This was just the second biggest mistake of my life."

RINOA LEFT CAIN'S in a weaker state than she had driven there in. She drove straight home and locked herself in the bathroom, curling herself in a desolate corner to hug her knees tightly to her chest. _What have I done? _The only coherent thought that ran back and forth on her mind. She rocked herself like a mother would a baby, the cold tiles soothing her and didn't even try to hold back the tears that spilled forth onto her cheeks.

_What have I done? _She shakily got to her feet and walked to sink. Rinoa let the tap run until the water was as cold as it would get. Splashing the icy refreshment on her hot face, she did the worst thing possible. Rinoa stared into her reflection. That's when she saw it ... the demon, standing behind her ... breathing down her neck. Like a child, she shut her eyes and screamed.

When she opened them, hesitantly, the demon in the mirror was gone. Of course it was ... there had been no one behind her. The demon had been her. Something ticked. She picked up the glass on the corner of the sink but it slipped from her clammy hands onto the tiles, splitting with a sickening crash as shards of glass exploded in different directions.

Rinoa gasped breaths and looked at the mess, a nervous shock echoing through her body. She let herself fall to the floor on her knees, _Why am I doing this? Why can't I be happy? _Rinoa picked out the largest cut shard of the glass. It was curved in a long, slender arrow.

_I tried to kill the pain_

_But only brought more, so much more ..._

_I lay dying_

_And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal_

_I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming_

_Am I too lost to be saved?_

_Am I too lost?_

The edge of the shard traced the veins slithering down her forearm, teasingly scratching her soft skin. Had she really become this desperate? So desperate that she had to come to this? The taking away of her own life. It wasn't as if she had never considered it before however, it was the first time she had held a sharp object so firmly with these intentions. Rinoa's eyes brimmed with tears of dread. It felt like the only solution, life was empty and her soul could never again be mended.

_My God, my tourniquet_

_Return to me, salvation_

_My God, my tourniquet_

_Return to me, salvation_

_I'm so screwed up ..._ She thought as a single tear leaked onto her cheek, to join the others unwillingly. Maybe slitting her wrists wasn't the best way to go. The pulling of a trigger seemed slightly more inviting, you couldn't mess it up. God knew how good she was at that, screwing things over. A general feeling of paranoia settled into the pit of her stomach, "I could fuck it up, go unconscious and wake up in a mental institution ... literally confined to four walls."

_Do you remember me?_

_Lost for so long_

_Will you be on the other side?_

_Or will you forget me_

_I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming_

_Am I too lost to be saved?_

_Am I too lost?_

Never happy, never satisfied. A spoilt little brat that received everything at the slightest lift of her finger. Rinoa reminisced about the last time she was starving, the last time she was dehydrated. "I've felt the pangs of hunger, my throat has itched in its dryness but when was the last time I skipped meals involuntarily ... skipped meals for days in a row without the choice? When's the last time I truly lacked something I needed? No, I require nothing more materialistic. But I'm parched ... I'm starving for something more and the worst part is that I don't know what it is ... rather I do but denial tastes so sweet."

_My God, my tourniquet_

_Return to me, salvation_

_My God, my tourniquet_

_Return to me salvation_

Two softly coursing rivers of salty tears dripped from her desperate cocoa eyes, onto her smooth cheeks to the corners of her mouth and off her chin. "I lust for something out of reach. The toys at my disposition have bored me and now I seek the glow of the stars and the silver of the moon." She wondered what it would feel like ... the sharpness of the glass shard slipping softly into her veins to release the little life that was left in her. Would she feel pain? Could she still feel at all?

_I want to die_

"I'm so sick of my life. I'm so sick of myself. When you're annoyed with someone, you can tell them to fuck off or you can just walk away. So, tell me, God, how do I walk away from myself?" What would it be like, to see her own blood seeping down her forearm like her soul that had died so long ago, what would it be like for the scalding hands of Hell stop pulling teasingly at her ankles and welcome her into the infernal underworld, "I see only one way."

And all she had to do was push a little harder on the makeshift blade.

_My wounds cry for the grave _

_My soul cries for deliverance_

_Will I be denied, Christ?_

_Tourniquet My suicide_

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: **I'm so unoriginal. Part of this text was from something I had written from school a while back and I traced a connection between Rinoa and my improvised 'Desdemona'. So, this is the downfall of the great Rinoa Heartilly that you've come to love. She's one sick puppy, guys, I'm sorry. The way I tormented her life, you had to expect this, right? So, some might not be too keen on the suicide idea. Sorry for the controversy but I am the author here so we'll abide by my rules in my Devil's Playground. Anyway, when I was writing this chapter I wanted to scream and slam my face into the nearest wall. The part with Cain and her made me squirm and wonder why the hell I would write this in the first place. Is character depth THAT important? 

Before you flame me and possibly not read this fic anymore because Rinoa 'made love' to Cain and then decided she might off herself, please, allow me to redeem myself in the 21st chapter and I assure you that you'll find it a bit happier than this one ... well, hopefully. So, that's the closing to Rinoa's slowly disintegrating sanity. I even named the different stages. If you noticed, chapter 17 was named 'Stagger', chapter 18 was 'Fall' and after the 'Devil's Dance Floor' intermission, we have 'On Her Hands And Knees' ... aren't I a brilliant author? Yeah, yeah ... whatever, I know.

I wonder how many people actually picked up on Rinoa's psyche ... in any case, I'm posting a LONG author's note after this fanfic to explain some things and possibly make you notice something about my writing style in this story (if you're interested, if not - go to hell XP).

So, that's it, that's all ... I hope you'll have the heart to review and not base it on the EVENTS of the chapter but of the STYLE ... because that is what we're looking at ... RIGHT PEOPLE? Riiiight ... By the way, don't try to SWAY my decisions in your reviews. It won't work. I already know EXACTLY what is going to happen and WHEN. So don't be all, "Squall should suddenly break into her apartment and save her and then they can have hot monkey sex on her bed and make babies and live happily ever after." (And no, that wasn't foreshadowing ... AT ALL- no one is coming to save her, get over it) ... I sincerely don't care what you think should happen; I care about what you THINK about the WRITING.

a. Excellent

b. Fair

c. Mediocre

d. Poor

And the song featured during the very angsty scene was 'My Tourniquet' by Evanescence. Does ANYONE read my author's notes to the very ... last ... word?


	21. Dancing in a Rain of Ashes

"_Why canst thou not always be a good lass, Cathy?"_

"_Why cannot you always be a good man, father?"_

_-Wuthering Heights_

**Dancing in a Rain of Ashes**

The phone rang. Ellone ignored it, lethargically lying on the sofa. Guilt. No matter how selfish, envious, gluttonous or evil she had been in her life, she had never felt culpable for her emotions or her actions. So, one could say, for the first time, Ellone Leonhart felt remorse but had no previous practice on truthfully apologizing.

Her answering machine clicked on, "Ellone, it's Squall. I've been thinking-" Ellone rolled her eyes at the word _thinking_ that had come out of her brother's mouth, "And I've figured that the front page of Seifer's newspaper ..." At this she groaned. It was as if someone had needed to remind her of another missed headline in her journalistic career, "It had to have been Diabolos. So, time to go in for a kill. I'll have to try tracing the evidence back to him so I'm going to be seeing him soon."

"You're too late. I shot her." Ellone called out to the answering machine, "I destroyed your girlfriend."

"And after he's gone ... I'm giving the money back to Rinoa ... I've done my freaking part, I'm sure she can take care of the rest herself. Talk to you soon." Squall hung up his cellphone, very much unaware of the message that his sister had attempted to transmit to him.

Ellone stared disbelievingly at the phone, "And you've just finished her off ... congratulations."

"I'M BEGGING YOU to think twice about this, Alexander." Caraway sat at Mr. Almasy's bedside, leaning towards the sickly man, "This entire city ... this game that we've played for years will finish very badly if you do this."

Alexander looked at his 'old friend' wearily, "My son is a failure, James. He deserves nothing of which I have strived to build. Seifer will send my accomplishments crumbling to the ground, over four decades of sacrifice will be lost to his impulsive, stupid lack of judgment and I will not, cannot leave this wretched playground in peace knowing he is supposed to be the driving force behind a multi-million dollar corporation!"

"If you ... exclude Seifer on your will, if at your death, and forgive me Alex but your time seems to be approaching, your eldest son is ripped from everything he thinks you have promised him something in that boy's head will click and he will ruin the structured day and night society that has taken years to build. He will turn on us all, he will murder innocents because Seifer has only one thing in mind ... and that is to rule Deling city." Caraway explained lightly, but firmly.

"You are a selfish, selfish man, James." Alexander smiled, amused, "Do not attempt to sway me by your political reasoning. The only reason you would hate for the demon within Seifer to be unleashed is for your daughter's sake. I must admit I've never really known what it is like to be attached to your children ... Seifer was a botched experiment ... I suppose Cain is the closest thing I've ever had to a son. But, trust me, it's easier once you come to terms with it: Rinoa Caraway will be murdered, if not by my son then by someone else. She's crossed too many paths."

Caraway snapped venomously, "My daughter is the only memory I have of my wife, Alex, and though she tries my patience, though she taunts my good resolve, she will not be taken away from me so easily."

"You speak of her as though she belongs to you. She was never your daughter, James, she was Julia's girl. You are not her father, she had no-"

Caraway roared, jumping up from his seat, "Shut up!" A soft hum stole into a silence and James spoke again, a little calmer, "There is no better time than the present to fix your mistakes. Rinoa is my daughter ... and I find it's time I take my responsibility as her father. Do what you will, send an army after her ... but mark my words, Alex, I will do everything in my power to save her." 

"You're too late."

"It's never too late."

ONLY CARAWAY COULD claim such optimistic things as he clung to the one string of hope left. His daughter, on the other hand, had already let go. Rinoa felt her hand increase the pressure on the glass shard, "You did this, Squall ... you gave me everything and then you took it away. Arielle too ..." The pain was almost welcoming, like an angel's touch.

"You could have at least left me my child. Even my father was good enough to leave my mother that." _The tiny baby with raven hair and her wide sapphire eyes ... beautiful little girl. Mommy's little girl. It never had that chance. God had a plan, didn't He? Arielle wasn't part of that plan. And apparently, neither was Rinoa._

"You broke my heart first, Squall ... you could have done was finish what you started." It wasn't regret or sadness anymore ... as the salty tears dripped down her porcelain face, urging her to let the crimson blood seep free, urging her to die. It was rage that bubbled within her like a simmering cauldron that had been left unattended. She found herself powerless, unable to go through with it, "Why the fuck am I stuck with your dirty work, Leonhart? Come on ... come to kill me ... I shouldn't have to go through this trouble just to make you happy. Where the fuck are you when you're needed? Never there."

To do this would be a favor to him. To do this would give him the satisfaction he needed to conclude his vengeance. She wouldn't do him that pleasure. Rinoa heaved herself off her knees and let the slender piece of glass fall to the floor with a final shatter.

SQUALL ENTERED DIABOLOS headquarters confidently. If this was to be his death-day, so then be it. There was no use crying over the paths of destiny. "Amigo, we were beginning to think you were ... dead or something." The big boss greeted him smugly, "We were getting worried."

The handyman scoffed, "Nah, not dead yet. Just been doing some research ... digging out rotting corpses from my closet, doing a little soul searching ... until I realized I had no soul. So now I'm back on the market ... one kill, a thousand bucks ... tell me if you want the victim to suffer, I've thought up of great ways to let them linger in the stench of Hell." Squall smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.

Diabolos guffawed and leaned forward on his desk, "Sorry ... but the assassin spot has been filled. Trepe's found another hitman going against his own clan, apparently ... very skilled in the ways of martial arts. Now, I'm not usually one to question a close ally's decisions but I asked myself what made her change her mind about you so fast? So, I sent out some search dogs ... studied the surroundings, and found out you were in favor of Rinoa Heartilly, stop me if I'm wrong ... in fact, that would explain why she would bail you in the first place ... after she put you behind bars herself ..."

Squall's face fell a little. Quistis had found out. He had been thrown into the same crate as Rinoa ... he wasn't welcome here anymore, he wasn't welcome anywhere, "Listen ... _amigo_, I'm the devil's advocate. I'm not with Heartilly and I won't lie and say I'm with Trepe but I'll tell you that I'm just trying to get by here."

Diabolos smiled maliciously, "Carlos." He called out and his right-arm man entered the room cautiously. It had been the first words that the big boss had addressed to him since the 'Rinoa Heartilly mimic' incident, "Tell this man what will happen to Heartilly's empire. Every single detail of the plan ... and then give him a taste of it ... just enough so he can go warn his ... _friend_." 

RINOA TRUDGED UP the cobblestone path into the heart of the cemetery. "Turn right at Hans Manstein, loving husband, father and grandfather. He had lived his life in honor, and had died in honor." So it said on the tombstone ... most likely a victim of one of those wars that happened years ago. She left the cobblestone to step on the grass lane of Peter Abbotsford - artist by calling, Jane Wagnall - mother of four, may she rest in peace, Nate Costello - son and brother, may his everlasting youth carry him into God's arms. She wondered what Irvine could write on her small tombstone since The Syndicate had no money to pay for one of those big, marble entities ... 'Rinoa Heartilly'. Period. 'Loving, screwed up sister and apparently a daughter of someone out there. Too young to get married, could've been a mom but shit happens.' No, that wouldn't fit properly. 'May the heat of Hell burn her just a little, not too much. May her body rest in peace, and her soul in pieces.'

And finally, Julia Heartilly - "If tears could build a stairway and memories were a lane, we would walk right up to Heaven and bring you back again." Loving mother, cherished wife. The angels found her so beautiful, they took her from a world that didn't deserve her.

Rinoa prayed silently, but not to God. Never again to God, "I'm everything you would have hated me to be. But this is my reality. I can't tell you I'm sorry for it, because I don't think I am. Squall may have 'killed me' ... but I guess I gave him the gun in the end. The idiot didn't have to use it though. So at least I can save myself from _that _part of the blame. What I'm asking for right now isn't for forgiveness. It's for understanding." She gazed down at the cool marble tombstone with carved angels at the corners, another set of fresh tears beginning to brim her eyes. "And guidance ..."

She heard footsteps on the cobblestone path and then the treading on the grass. Someone was here. She sighed desperately, "Christ, mom, I asked for understanding, not for judgment day. Why did you send him?" He was too close now, she couldn't run away. Ironic. The one person she had vowed to avoid. Someone who knew every last one of her secrets. "Or are you having fun with this?"

The footsteps stopped two feet from her and her father's voice beckoned her from her intense wishing, "Nice weather we're having, huh?" She could have shot him dead on the spot. _The MORON, he hasn't seen me face-to-face for how many years and the first comment he makes is on the weather? Drop dead, dad ... drop fucking dead._

"Absolutely stunning." Rinoa replied sardonically. She found it unnecessary to remind him that the skies were a steely gray. At least there was that driving anger that kept her eyes dry for the time being.

"You're a very difficult person to get a hold of. Irvine was going insane saying how you had said you were going to stay home and then you wouldn't answer your phone ... thus making him hypothesize on your disappearance. So I figured I'd find you here." Caraway declared, just for the sake of conversation.

"If you figured you would find me here, I must not be that difficult to get a hold of." Rinoa countered aggressively.

Silence. Unfortunately for her, it didn't last long, "Well, this wonderful place you come to visit every month or so is a hundred miles into the outskirts of the city so, yes ... that does make you difficult to get a hold of. Then there's the issue with your cellphone that's always turned off. Also the tiny little fact that you don't tell anyone where you're going and when, so you could just as well be hanging in your closet than-"

"Hey, what the fuck, old man, you want a tracker on me or something?" She snapped viciously, turned to face him, "Under normal circumstances you don't care, but suddenly you want to know when I eat, you want to know when I sleep, you want to know when I-" She stopped herself short. _Keep it decent, Rinoa, do that ... at least._

"No, by all means, you can eat, sleep, fuck, because that _is_ what you were going to say, whenever it pleases you so." A short, annoyed silence and then, "Actually, no, I changed my mind ... you may not, Rinoa, because unfortunately, I am your father, whether you like it or not and you can not ... _will not _go through your entire life as a dazed adult that doesn't know when, how or why and just _does things _just because she happens to feel like it at that particular moment in time!"

"Oh my God, it's high school all over again except _this _time, you've learnt your lines. You're a little late, dad, just a tad seeing as I'm ... what am I? Twenty-four, twenty-five? I stopped counting but I think I'm leaning more towards the twenty-five. You should have given me that speech a decade ago ... a whole ten years, pops." Rinoa blurted out sarcastically, "But, I gotta admit, those extra years you spent practicing paid off. That was a really nice assertive tone and you didn't stutter a single time."

"Yes, I thought that performance was quite well done myself." Caraway stated cynically and waved the banter away, "Now that that's out of my system, let's discuss the present. Let's all three of us sit down and have a chat."

"Mom doesn't have a voice." She hissed venomously, "I declare a draw point for this conversation as one of the council members is missing. A faulty debate. End of discussion, go home, I was here first."

Caraway rolled his eyes and sighed, "Your mother would agree with me anyway."

"Ha!" Rinoa snickered and gestured snappishly, "You wish. You know, _dad, _you could write a book ... 'The Key to Bullshitting'. You can make it a two-story novel, one about parent-hood and the other of politics. It'd be a bestseller for sure. Hell, I'd buy it. Would you sign my cover, daddy-dearest?"

"With pleasure." Caraway answered curtly and took it as his duty to change the topic swiftly once more, "And I don't have to wish, _daughter-dearest_, because you and I both know that in these present circumstances, your mother would agree with me. So now, I give you two options ... you cooperate or I'll tear mercilessly away at the past few years you've been spending on fucking up your entire life."

Rinoa remained silent and then, in a small but resentful voice she spoke, "Fuck you, old man."

"I see you like to make things difficult for yourself." Caraway observed and cleared his throat, "So let's start with the first chapter of the book entitled, 'Rinoa Heartilly's Mistakes'. I suppose we'll go chronologically ... first on the list, drugs and alcohol. Just because I didn't say anything doesn't mean I didn't realize, hmm? I'm not that much of an idiot. Tell me, was it that much of a kick?"

No answer, so he continued harshly, "Then, enter stage left, Squall Leonhart. Yes, I even know his name. I've met him too, actually. I know everyone has their weak moments and everything but did you have to fall for _that _boy? Did it have to be _him_?"

She decided to answer him this time with a twinge of sarcasm to betray the lump that had risen to her throat, "My apologies, Caraway, I'll pick someone better next time."

"It's not about picking someone better, Rinoa. Actually, I liked the kid the first time I met him but then I learnt that you had been with him and that just ruined it for me, because honestly the first time I laid my eyes on him I saw him as the tough bastard who got the job done and then went to screw some random whore ... it was a big shock, really, when I learnt that whore was you. Which brings me to my next point ..."

"I don't want to hear your next point, I want you to go kill yourself! Go play in traffic, make it look like an accident!" Rinoa snapped viciously, "You think you know something, old man, but really you've got no fucking clue so if you don't mind, I'd rather get hit by a tractor than to ever see your face again!"

Caraway's voice buried his daughter's with a threatening roar, "WHICH BRINGS ME TO MY NEXT POINT-"

"FUCK YOU!" She bellowed back, interrupting him.

"SHUT UP AND LISTEN, FOR ONCE, PLEASE!" Caraway hollered pleadingly.

This was the confrontation that had been pushed back for ten, tumultuous years. Silence fell over the graveyard as the dead listened in, wakened from their slumber from all the commotion. Julia was watching too.

Receiving no response from his daughter, he continued in a softer tone, "Which brings me to my next point ... the child." It was like a powerful blow to the gut. A sharp slap to the face. A stinging pain that couldn't wear off, even after minutes of soft stillness. She couldn't speak, it was hard enough to breathe. Cautiously, Caraway followed up on his head on attack, "Tell me, did you get rid of it because Squall was done away with or was the whole ordeal out of the question anyway?"

Rinoa answered him for the second time without sarcasm, without a shrill yell but with a bitter tone and a sharp edge to her words, "Listen to yourself, Caraway, _'get rid of it'_, _'done away with'_." She paused, "Do you ever look at people as human beings or are they just figures for you. Just faces without purpose except to be used by you." Her voice rose and her eyes locked right into his, "Do you ever listen to yourself once in a while? Do you ever care once in a while?" Unable to hold herself from the threshold of rage, she began yelling again, "DO YOU EVER CARE? ONCE IN A FUCKING WHILE, DO YOU GIVE A SHIT ABOUT STUFF?!" She paused and gasped a short breath. And finally, responded to the question, "Actually, _father_, as much of a disappointment that it may be to you, I wanted ... 'the child' as you labeled her, and I only ... _got rid of it_ because one of the duller crayons from the box, Squall, had been ... _done away with_." She cracked a sardonic smile, "Are there any further questions or can you leave me the fuck alone?"

After a short silence dedicated to his recovery, James managed to keep up the determination in his voice, though it was weakening, "No, I'm afraid we're not done here yet." And he stopped again. _What am I doing? I didn't come here to wage a new war. I didn't come here to stand in front of your grave to show myself right before the eyes of any council. I came here to be granted amnesty ... and to grant it in return._

Rinoa raised her eyes as if daring him to get on with it because she had no intention of wasting her time being stared at. She could not let it be known, but Rinoa just wanted to run, crying from the cemetery into the welcoming arms of solitude. This confrontation was too harsh. The little strength she had kept in reserves had been drained.

"I'll answer your question now." Caraway stated wearily, "I must admit in my years of living, there were very few times I can say I actually cared. I went through my educational life uncaring, I progressed through my career indifferently ... I suppose you're right, in some ways, I see most people as just figures to take advantaged of. But I cared about your mother, Rinoa. And I care about you, as ... fictitious as those words may sound. There were also times in my life where I didn't want to face the facts since in some ways they went against what I wanted. This is one of those times. You're right ... I think I know something, but really I haven't a clue. So I would like you to explain it to me."

"An explanation? Sure. You said that you care on a rare occasion. Tell me, dad, have you ever heard of love?" Again a golden silence that Rinoa let steal through just enough to let him think and then spoke again, "Well, that's what happened. That concludes the explanation, there's nothing else to clarify. I'm sorry it happened, sorry I put you to shame by my desire to have it all - money, love and yeah, even a kid. I'm sorry, I can truthfully swear that it'll never happen again because my 'lover' ran away with my 'money' and I lost my 'kid' so that's it, game over for me. One player less on your precious playground, jackpot just doubled. Have yourselves a party, you, Trepe, Almasy and the rest of crazies out in the field."

"A sort of bland defeat for the great Rinoa Caraway that succeeded at stepping on everyone's toes." Caraway remarked and his daughter shrugged, "Even though you resign, it doesn't mean that Trepe will relent on her chase to murder you."

"First off, it's Rinoa _Heartilly_. Secondly, if Trepe can save me the trouble then power to her." She drilled sternly, "I have just a few more things to clear up with my 'lover' concerning my 'money' but after that I'm good to go. There won't be anything left to do on this rotten piece of a continent. And let my 'kid' rest in peace."

"What would your mother say if she heard you?"

"My mother can hear me, Caraway, and if _you_ can hear properly, she's not saying much."

Caraway sighed and rubbed his temples. Over the years, he had forgotten how stubborn his daughter was and his pride was keeping him from asking for a peace treaty. So instead, he meticulously antagonized over it, "Rinoa, Trepe is finalizing an agreement with a hitman tonight. Her henchmen and her hired aid are meeting at a construction site on Hudd Avenue ... industrial sector. She's _finalizing _it ... as in, no more discussions needed. As her ally, I wasn't going to stop her once again - that would've looked suspicious. Instead, I bought you a ticket to Balamb. I rented you a suite at the local hotel and I've opened a bank account and placed a considerable amount of funds under the name Anne-Marie Frances. An identity you will assume for three months tops, time enough for me to clean up this mess and ruin everything I've strived to build my entire life." Caraway dug into his jacket pocket and fished out a passport, ID cards and a plane ticket.

Rinoa looked at his outstretched hand filled with the rest of her life and back into his dark eyes, "I like the way you make it sound as if you're giving me a choice."

"Well, sweetie, I'm not, actually." He pushed the papers forward and she snatched them from his hands, "Good, so we have an understanding at least. First sign of the apocalypse but anyway. I'll come get you when the dust has settled. Your flight leaves tomorrow at noon, if you need anything call me."

_If you need anything call me._

She had wanted to hear those words from her father's mouth since she had been fifteen. She had given up at sixteen. And now, there they had resurfaced like a bloated corpse bobbing up and down the river, "Yeah. I'll call you." She smiled genuinely, "You know, dad, I've always wanted to tell you this - you're a big disappointment."

Caraway shrugged and showed the slightest glimpse of a smile, "So are you. Now can you please not waste anymore of my time and go pack your bags?"

"Uhm ... yeah, sure thing, chief." She patted him on the shoulder and strode past him, towards the cobblestone path.

He watched her leave the graveyard and turned to his wife's tombstone, "So ... did I do good? I hadn't thought so either. You didn't give birth to a girl, you gave birth to a damn mule, Julia. With any luck, she'll listen. If not, well, I can tab her a bill later of how much this stupid ordeal is going to cost me."

He reached into his other pocket and got out a cellphone. Flipping it open, he dialed Squall's number and had to wait eight rings before it answered. On top of it, he was greeted by silence, "Leonhart?"

"What?" The voice sounded like it was in agony.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, nothing much, trying to get a shoe out of my ass ... how're you, good politician?"

"Better than you. Anyway, there's a meeting at Hudd Avenue in the industrial sector at a construction site to-"

"Discuss your daughter's assassination, I've heard."

"From who?"

"The owner of the shoe."

"Lovely. In any case, Trepe's henchmen and a hitman are meeting to finalize a deal. Must be some sort of briefcase filled with money that's involved. Everything is organized to go smoothly with this friendly exchange. Can you see where I'm going?"

"I can't see much right now. I'm crying blood."

"Make sure everything goes wrong."

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: **Whee, I win! Chapter 21 done and completed. Uhm ... so, hoorah for expanding on the Rinoa/Caraway relationship! There we go, lemme just throw in some realism here an' there. Notice my bit of humor at the end with Squall and the shoe? Yeah, I thought that was pretty clever. And anyway, I know some of you are only interested in Squall and Rinoa but pay attention to the other characters as well ... for example, Mr. Almasy, Seifer and Cain's father. Lookit the plotline, people ... what happens if that old man croaks and doesn't leave anything to Seifer? I wonder how many people are actually curious. I think I'll pride myself on this being the best chapter I've written so far since I've been dying to break out the daughter/father relationship. 

Anyway - I'm VERY pleased with the reviews of the last chapter. Some people took the chapter really well and understood it fully and others ... well, not so much so. Particular thanks to angel-brokensorrow, NoliansStorm and Loki-TheGrimScreamer who seemed to have interpreted the actual depth of Rinoa's character and didn't go to judge me so quickly with a, "Psssh ... THIS PIECE OF GARBAGE, YOU SMELL!" (no, that wasn't a quoted from anywhere in particular). Doreedo, do not apologize for your long reviews as I enjoy them most. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as the previous (if there are people who enjoyed the previous chapter). By the way, kudos to those who felt sorry for Cain because that tells me you've looked at this piece beyond the frames of a fanfic and THAT makes me happy.

Ok, let's play a game with the reviews. Let's play INCLUDE A QUESTION IN YOUR REVIEW. Basically, include a question in your reviews and I'll answer it in the next chapter's author note - it can relate to the story or be something completely random like, "Why are humans so asinine?". But no questions like, "Where do babies come from?" because if you're reading this fic and STILL don't know the answer to that question just go back to chapter 20 and re-read the Cain and Rinoa scene. THAT'S how babies are made. (No, Rinoa is not pregnant with Cain's child, I think one abortion is enough for this story.)

a) Good

b) Fair

c) Mediocre

d) Poor


	22. No Man's Land

_Will you join me in this dance of misery,_

_Cradled in impossibility?_

_Swooning,_

_I am swept away, swept off my feet._

_With step-by-step we take the lead_

_As drop-by-drop we start to bleed._

_-AFI (Dancing Through Sunday)_

**No Man's Land**

Squall hung up and threw his phone into the backseat. He flipped open his mirror and examined himself. The thin cut on his temple from Caraway's gun barrel had company. Lots of company. Carlos had given him a bit more than a 'taste' of their plan. Squall turned his head to see a long slash from the back of his ear, following his jaw line until halfway to his chin. "Yay, another scar." He muttered to himself. "On top of it all, I have to start a couple of more fights tonight. Can my day get any better or what?"

His lip was also gashed and his cheekbone was bruised but it was his ribs that killed him the most. How many kicks had Carlos delivered in quick successions? God, he didn't care, he just needed painkillers. Squall licked his lips over the dried, cracked blood and almost enjoyed the iron taste. It tasted like chaos. Destruction. A demon rose within him, Ares possessed his spirit suddenly. Bloodshed. This is what he craved. Enough of lying in the shadows. He was brawn, not brains. Fuck strategy.

RINOA SAT IN her office analyzing the papers her father had given her. She was supposed to be Anne-Marie Frances now. Couldn't he have picked a better name? Not that it made a difference anyway. The documents went from passports, to identifications, to a birth certificate and bank statements with a debit card attached with the pin number written in miniscule font at the corner of a blank piece of paper.

She sighed as she looked at the plane ticket. Balamb seemed like a very far away place to her. Most likely riddled with the odd fisherman and his sons that desperately needed wives. "Hey, if there's a cute one, maybe I could make a trip to the local, run-down church, recite a couple of vows and spend the rest of my life gutting fishes and telling my fourteen kids to 'shut their yaps'. Hmm ... this is odd ... why does that option seem so appealing? It's hard to tell which is the better part, the gutting fishes or having monsters that run on batteries as children."

Rinoa smirked and reached a decision. She collected all the papers that had been sprawled out on her desk and neatly arranged them together, strode to the kitchen and dropped them into the trashcan, right atop the broken glass that had shattered on the bathroom floor, "Sorry, Caraway."

Patiently, she waited for dusk to settle upon the eternally hypocrite city. She was curious ... how badly did Quistis want her dead? What was the price on her head? It would be amusing to find out. And so, despite her father's wonderful lecture today (his first ever delivered) she wouldn't listen. When had she ever listened? More importantly, why should she start at twenty-five? "Twenty-five ... ugh ... I'm _so _old. Soon, I'll start gaining weight and oh, it's painful to think about it." She glanced around her lifeless apartment, "It's really lonely in here ... man, so how about those tropical fish? Or maybe plants. Lots of old women like plants. And cats ... maybe I'll get dozens of cats and petition on the rights of ownership when the landlord threatens to kick me out. Or I could just start bawling and hugging them, claiming them to be like children to me." Her thoughts lingered in limbo and started again, bemused, "Woah, what happened to just going out to clubs and getting myself plastered?"

And that had to make her heave an exasperated sigh again. Why was she talking like she had some sort of remote future? Nothing was for sure and it wasn't as if she was desperately trying to survive. Survival was only of the slightest concern ... survival was only essential because she had promised herself not to die by anyone's hand except the one that had struck her down. And that hand belonged to Squall.

Slowly, the sun sunk down and away from Deling to rise again at the eastern Estharian horizon. The monster removed its mask and everywhere in alleys, glints of the silver of guns slithered from their hibernation spots. Rinoa had changed into jeans (a much safer choice as the night proved to be slightly chillier than the day) and had slipped into a denim jacket. She grabbed her keys from the coffee table and took one last look around. Having satisfied her last glance, she shut the door of her apartment, doubting if she'd open it again, ignoring that she would, in fact, but with unexpected company.

SQUALL WAS ALMOST amazed at his turn of luck. Making things go bad was stunningly simple, he realized this as he looked around the construction site. Trepe's men and hired hitman would most likely meet in the heart of the building being erected. The foundation had been settled and two concrete walls were solidified. Beams overhung setting the place for the second floor and the only way up there was through a construction elevator. Or they could climb that pile of wooden crates and steel cargo bins. But who would even want to reach the second floors with only thin (though sturdy) pieces of steel to balance on?

Obviously they would meet between the two walls of the future first floor. It was convenient as the security lights shone there mostly. At the back with the barbed wire fencing were two fuel tanks. This was easy. So incredibly easy to create a diversion. He jogged back to his car (which he had conveniently parked on the other side of the street) and popped open the trunk where he kept a spare container of gas (just in case) and doubled his speed back to the center of the construction site.

In the darkness of the night, lit only by security flares Squall emptied the canteen of gasoline in a generous trace up to the middle of 'first floor'. It was visible but still discreet. Some may assume it's just water, after all, who said the world was free of idiots? He shouldn't have much time left, and he still needed to figure out his angles. About ten yards away from the tanks were scrap pieces of metal, mostly grail supports and cut-off beams. Behind this debris he had a clear shot of the tanks ... besides, it should be a great enough distance so he wouldn't suffer.

Squall spotted bright headlights in the distance and the cutting of an engine. "Here they come."

RINOA HAD PARKED her car a few blocks away. She didn't mind walking and didn't really feel like being recognized by the 'hitman' or Trepe's henchmen so the car had to lag behind somewhere. She strode, shockingly relaxed, on the worn pavement of the sidewalk until she arrived at the supposed meeting place. "What a clever place to exchange pleasantries and money ... you've out-done yourself, Quistis ... I'm sure an idiotic, babbling, retarded four-year old child could've drooled over that idea and given himself an aneurysm. So, I suppose that's saying a lot for you."

Viewing the scene, she sighed, "Well this is another stupid idea. Where the hell am I supposed to not be seen? Is knowing the price of my head really worth my ass? Am I this fucking bored?" But curiosity was far too well rooted within her. Noticing a pile of debris near a newly established wall, she headed in that general direction. "Now to test if the monkey-skills I acquired as a toddler are still effective." She hoisted herself on a cargo bin, making a clanging noise. "It's fine ... no one's here yet." Rinoa carefully studied her steps so not to make crates fall off and her tumbling after. Finally, she was able to grab a beam and pull herself over onto the wall. "Well, look at my luck, there's some nice ass room over here." A sarcastic thought intruded on her concentration and her feet left the solidity of the bricks. She grappled onto a support beam just in time and hung, dangling like a cat that had wandered too far up a tree.

FROM SQUALL'S STANDING point, he could only see a distinguished figure obviously taking this site for a jungle gym, "What a damn idiot. What are they doing? Who the fuck is that anyway? Maybe I should help ... actually, no, it'd be funny to see them fall."

THE WEIGHT ON her arms was dragging her down, "Man, I'm already starting to get fat, this is depressing." She looked down at her feet, worried. Was that a car door that had just closed? "Fuck." Rinoa pulled, putting her entire weight on her poor biceps that hadn't known such rigorous exercise in quite a lengthy amount of time. By swinging herself, she managed to catch a parallel beam with her foot and then pulled herself to a seating position onto that same beam, "Ohh yeah, baby ... twenty-five, alive and kicking but I'm SO gonna feel that one in the morning." Softly panting she slid alongside the beam until reaching the top of the wall where she finally sat on the hard, solid concrete.

She checked around. "Excellent, no blindingly bright lights on me." It was true. Her body was entirely camouflaged in the darkness but if she were to budge even an inch and a half, she would fall into the shine and another game over would streak her day.

SQUALL WAS VERY disappointed. "Damn, they didn't fall. Pity. They can't be Trepe's people ... could this idiot be the hitman?" But his questions didn't go unanswered for long. As more headlights dimmed and more car doors shut, he saw a small army of twenty or so Trepies surround the entire area. They had guns. All of them. Squall groaned, "Fuck, can anything get any better?" He remained hidden in his pile, "Hopefully, smoke will cover me after the shot."

Two Trepies, one carrying a heavy looking, leather briefcase stepped into the pool of light smack dab where Squall had predicted. He detected other footsteps that belonged to a tall, slim man in a navy suit with sunglasses even this late out at night. Shoulder length black hair tied back into a ponytail was only one of his recognizable assets. Squall's eyes widened, "Holy shit, it ... can't be ..."

RINOA WAS FROZEN, too afraid to move. Her skin crawled with fear and anticipation for this meeting to be quickly done over with. She tasted her death, partially because she was biting down on her tongue so hard that she drew blood. Too nervous to breathe normally, she sucked in silent, shallow breaths when she could unclench her jaw. A field riddled with Trepe's men and one serious-looking assassin. _Her _assassin.

"My money." Her supposed murderer demanded immediately. He sure had a way of beating around the bush. Or not. The man was definitely Asian though.

The one holding the briefcase handed it to him and smirked, "Counted to the last bill by the lady herself ... so if you have any issues, you can address her."

Rinoa smiled to herself and thought, amused, "What brave men you have, Quistis. What brave, loyal men."

The contract killer took the case and had the most sinister smile, "Well, then this is all taken care of. I have the files ... I have the money. Expect a happy Ms. Trepe tomorrow morning." Rinoa's eyes widened. They certainly wasted no time.

"Case closed." The other Trepie declared gleefully. Case closed indeed as a single bullet was fired into the fuel tanks.

THE BULLET HIT the steel tanks with an incredible impact sending off a tiny spark, and a spark was enough to quickly engulf the liquid inside the metal shell. Flames consumed the gas entirely, sending sharp shards of steel exploding in different directions and spewing a firework show.

Squall had miscalculated. A miscalculation that cost him dear. The twisted metal carcass shot out from the blast and gashed the left side of his body. The burning steel sliced through his leather coat, carving its mark onto his arm. He felt a white-hot make-shift knife cut onto the side of his head. Smoke billowed from the blown tanks and covered the site in thick, acrid smog.

The fire was still going, eating the trace of gasoline that Squall had made, it slithered its way up to the negotiating party in a matter of milliseconds. Surprised by the explosion and the chasing flames, they dispersed and the hitman cried out in anger, "YOU WON'T GET ME LIKE THIS!" He ran away from the flames but his eyes were handicapped to the smoke.

Rinoa tumbled backwards on the wall in surprise and landed amongst the teeter-totter crates that crumbled under her weight. Her legs burnt from the sudden flame eruption in the middle of the meeting spot, she picked herself off the floor painfully moaning. "Well, this turned out to be a bad idea." She thought, panic mode ensued with a streak of obvious confusion, coughing up the air her lungs couldn't take. She held the collar of her jacket to her nose and stumbled across no man's land. Every coward for themselves, those who venture in this uncharted, unclaimed land may not return home.

Unknowing to her, she had made a straight path for the pile of scrap metal and she had hit home. Tumbling over the grail and warped beams, she landed on something softer than the ground. Rather, someone. That someone let out an anguished cry filled with a certain rage and threw her off of him in a fit of fury, "FUCKING IDIOT!"

She knew that voice. She wished she didn't. Rinoa felt a rough hand grab her throat roughly, without mercy and shut her eyes tightly, preparing for the blow, "What the fuck are you doing here!?" Squall snapped viciously, holding back his fist just in time.

"What an intelligent question to be asking _now._" Rinoa remarked with a certain irony. She grimaced as she shoved him off of her and stumbled to a standing position, coughing manically, holding her hands to her face in a vain attempt to filter the air. She tasted the acridity of the smog and it made her sick to her stomach, "Don't know about you, but I'm leaving." She darted from his sight in a quick hurry.

Ignoring the pain, Squall winced his way to a sprint and attempted to catch up with her. Futile. She was lost in the thick foggy air. He resolved to just running in every direction, gun in hand in case he were to bump into anyone. Once he felt his shoes hit the cold asphalt he didn't stop running. Her car had to be somewhere around here.

Slowing his pace to a jog, he looked behind him to see headlights flash and engines rev out of the industrial sector. "There, I made everything go wrong. Happy, Mr. Caraway?"

He panted his way away from the construction site of Hudd Avenue and was a number of blocks away when he spotted the silver Porsche. Squall rolled his eyes, "Probably too nervous to get the key in."

The young man's theory wasn't entirely false. Rinoa sat in the driver's seat, breathing the clean air her car offered her. Her eyes remained closed, her knuckles pressed to her lips, her forehead resting on the wheel.

The passenger door opened and she yelped in fright at the intruder. Squall leisurely got into the seat and caught his breath slowly.

"You ... you ..." Rinoa stuttered and suddenly was overwhelmed with a short fuse of anger, "You're bleeding in my fucking car!" She punched his left arm with a defining force that made him howl like a wounded dog, "GET OUT!"

Squall grabbed his injury with his right hand and harshly roared, "JUST FUCKING DRIVE, YOU IDIOT!"

"GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT!" She yelled back, trying to bury his intimidating volume.

Much to her surprise, Squall's left hand was still very much functional. He grabbed her wrist vigorously and tore her keys away with a startling viciousness. Squall ignited the engine and looked at her meaningfully, "Listen to me and drive or I'll do it for you." There was a certain threatening edge to his growls that made her believe his intimidation wasn't just 'all talk'.

She gulped and whispered softly, "Where?"

"Your apartment, you don't need directions to go there, do you?"

They drove slowly out of the industrial sector with little conversation, only a hushed silence that made both uncomfortable. Rinoa shifted gears as she picked up speed and Squall watched her hand shakily rest on the shifting stick. His eyes traveled interested to her face, down to her thighs ... he rubbed his temples and looked away, embarrassed.

"What were you doing there?" He asked a little calmer this time.

"I was taking a walk, obviously." Rinoa replied, sarcasm biting down her words, "I usually love to walk by factories and warehouses all the time. It's such a turn on. Total eye candy." She shifted into third, "What the hell were _you _doing there? I thought we had a deal. No more connections with Trepe."

Squall smirked, "Yeah, I'm not working for her anymore. Mostly thanks to you, but let's not start pointing fingers. I don't have enough of them. Since it's just you and I, let's have a nice conversation. Your father is such a kind man, now I know whom you get it from. I mean ... he called me an idiot, hit me upside the head, gun in hand might I add, orders me around like I'm some sort of slave, has me by the damn testicles ..." 

Rinoa nodded and clicked her tongue, "Yeah, yeah ..."

"Your brother is also such a nice guy with a mouth the size of a grapefruit, and I've seen some pretty big grapefruit. Tell me, is every member of your family so charming? Tell me more about your mother, did she skin puppies in her spare time and make coats out of them? Just by knowing you, I kind of pictured her as a woman who amused herself by grabbing men's crotches and sinking her nails deep into their-"

"Don't even talk about my mother, Squall. Shut the fuck up, no one cares about what's in your goddamn pants." Rinoa interrupted, almost fuming. The rest of the ride was accorded a heavy, golden silence.

A SOFT CRIMSON color fogged the water as Rinoa strained the damp cloth and re-applied it to Squall's arm, doing her best to clean the cut without hurting him. He was such a damn baby sometimes, "Christ, woman!" He scowled in surprise at the burning sensation on his flesh, "Is that water or rubbing alcohol?"

"It's peroxide mixed with water, you stupid cad." Rinoa snapped back, "The least you can do is show you have some spine and stop leaning your leg on the edge of my damn couch because if you haven't notice, you're getting it dirty. Just sit still!"

"I'm bleeding out the ass and she tells me I'm getting fucking furniture dirty!" He exclaimed in incredulity, "The fucking broad complains I'm getting her fucking couch contaminated, sorry, Rin, I'll just fucking STOP leaking blood now since I'm obviously causing you lots of trouble with this whole-" A sharp stinging slap to the face. Silence. And then, "Ok, maybe I deserved that."

"You think?" She rinsed the cloth and strained it once more, sighing. Rinoa delicately wiped around the rather large cut. Squall watched her work, never had seen her as the nursing type. She was, in fact, a terrible nurse, he remarked as she awkwardly avoided the wound, possibly in fear of making him scream bloody murder.

His eyes traveled to her silky hair, certain strands falling into her eyes as she concentrated. Squall felt a pang of desire. He leaned his head back and groaned, "What's your problem now?" Rinoa hissed contemptuously. Her voice was ever so seductive, even when she was angry. Was she doing this purposely? He wondered.

"Why didn't you just kill me?"

Silence. And again, he prompted, "Why didn't you kill me?"

"Why didn't _you _just kill _me?_" She retorted, going back to her bowl of peroxide and water.

"Answer me, fuck!" Squall growled, annoyed, "Don't start fucking with my mind, can you give me a straight answer?"

"I just didn't _feel _like it, Squall!" She snapped nastily, pressing on the wound causing him to suppress a painful yowl, "Because I missed and I only had one bullet!" She pushed the cloth to his wound making his jaw clench, "Because I felt so sorry for you." More pressure, "Because you looked pathetic, lying there like road kill, bait for the cops. Because as a woman of the upper class, I had mercy for the pitiful ruffian below me. _Pick one, you prick._" Finally, the result she wished for was yielded as he cried out in splintering pain.

She threw the bloodied cloth back into the bowl, left him on the couch and disappeared into the kitchen. He heard the tap go on as she dumped the dirtied water into the sink. Squall heard her soft footsteps come back into the living room and away into her bedroom. Rinoa came back with an ace bandage and grabbed his arm roughly. Definitely not a nurse by nature.

She wrapped the bandage tightly around his bicep, "Too tight." He muttered, but she ignored him, "It's too damn tight. Are you listening? Too tight."

"It's supposed to be, idiot, your blood needs to clot." She finished fastening the bandage and looked towards the window where drops of rain splattered onto the balcony and onto the windows with a soft pitter-patter. They both looked into the darkness of outside as the drops began to hit the pane with certain violence. She looked back to him, her eyes betraying her cold façade with a tender glance, "I'll call a taxi."

"What?"

"Unless you want to walk home." She avoided his eyes and made her way to the kitchen once more but was stopped short by his hold on her arm, "What?"

"I'm not going anywhere right now." He got up from the couch, grabbed his coat from the armrest and slipped into it again, "You're going to answer me. I think we've square-danced around this one long enough, don't you think? It's a never-ending chase, I'm growing bored ... not to mention very, very, very annoyed."

"Not my problem." Rinoa wrenched away from his grasp, "I'm calling you a taxi."

"No. Enough stalling."

"Squall, it's late, I'm sick and tired. Sick and tired of you, mainly, if you really want the truth. And there's just no way I'm going to put coffee on and sit down to chat with you. It's been a long, long day for me and I'm sure you're old enough to understand that I want to be left alone right now. Are you mature enough to handle some odd hours of being alone until I feel like seeing your face again in the morning?"

"Nope. I'm not. Put some coffee on. Sit down. We're going to chat."

He stood, towering inches over her, his cold eyes glaring into her vulnerable eyes, "Don't worry, Rinoa ... Tsang thinks Trepe betrayed him. So we really have _all _the time in the world ... no one's going to kill you tonight. At least, not to my knowledge. Let's talk about everything right now. Let's cover every single angle of our wonderful relationship, what do you say?" Seconds trickled to minutes and Rinoa stood still, unwavering, mentally and physically preparing herself for the confrontation that had been waiting to happen. The second conflict to be wrapped up tonight.

She let out a breath and chuckled nervously. No, she wasn't ready for this yet. She wanted him to go away. God, why wouldn't he go away?

A surge of anger rushed up and down her spine like electricity. _Why wouldn't he go the fuck away? _Her eyes flared à la frustration. Knuckles tightened to strong fists as she stared, inches from brave, into his cool blue eyes. Rinoa Heartilly had more than enough. He just hadn't picked his day.

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: **Nothing special about this chapter, and yes, I'm aware of the scientific innacuracy of it. No comments, I was running out of ideas and I had to settle for second best action movie crap. Sorry guys.

I've been doing alot of going crazy, procrastinating and bitching lately. As in, 'not writing' and I find that sad. I'll be getting back on track soon because I'm definetly running out of chapters to post. My laptop's hardware exploded but everything's back now and I didn't lose as much as I thought I had - thank God because I had begun to write a chapter and I don't back up my files. This experience has taught me otherwise.

PLEASE review, you don't know how much it means to me to know whether or not you people like it.

A - Good, B - Fair, C - Mediocre, D - Poor

Questions:

1. where did you get the idea for this fic? -trekken46

_Well, Grand Theft Auto: III mixed with my morbid sense of pleasure to make other's suffer pretty much brought it all together nicely._

2. What did Ellone mean by 'You're too late. I shot her. I destroyed your girlfriend.'? -angel-brokensorrow

_Ellone was being the drama queen she is. She feels incredibly guilty for having betrayed Rinoa and thinks that she has catalyze the auto self-destruction mechanism within Rinoa._

3. If Fuzzy wuzzy was a Bear, and Fuzzy wuzzy had no hair, how could Fuzzy Wuzzy be Fuzzy? -Loki-TheGrimScreamer

_Fuzzy Wuzzy was a fraud. He was trialed and executed for his crimes. He was the Leonardo DiCaprio of 'Catch Me if You Can'._

4. Why does Rinoa blame Squall. And though I am sure you have the answer in the story I probably read it at 2 a.m. and can't remember, why in god's name did Rinoa shoot Squall in the first place. -Lorok

_Rinoa doesn't really blame Squall. She only really accused him in the 'Devil's Dance Floor' chapter and then on since the fact that she was actually blaming herself was beginning to weigh on her conscious a little too much. She shot Squall because it was a good alternative to get rid of him ... and she wanted to get rid of him to prove to herself that she was as independant as he was. See, my characters are all psychotic and strikingly dumb._

5. is there anything that inspires you to write or does it all just pop up in your head and will Squall or Caraway kill Quistis in the end? -shortie630

_At times, I'm inspired by other literary pieces or people and sometimes it just pops into my head. This whole story plays in my mind like a movie and I'm free to edit and cut whenever I get down to my keyboard. As for your second question, you'll just have to wait and see._

6. Err, is it Seifer's fault that I can't be in a proper relationship? Is it  
because of him that I feel like I don't give enough about other men? -Verdiani

_Yes. Yes it is. Why wouldn't it be his fault? It's Squall's fault I never have a boyfriend ... I suppose it's a combine effort. We're weird and they're hot._

7. if you were living on the street and only had a nickel what would you do with it? -chrissy-chan

_Give it to another homeless man who seems to have more in his cup than I do._

8. Why does Rinoa blame the death of her child on Squall? -Freakker

_Again, she doesn't REALLY blame him as she did account that it was her fault in the beginning. But she partially blames him because she wouldn't have gotten rid of the child if she knew Squall loved her, which she was convinced he didn't._

9. I dunno if im just clueless, but it seems to me that Zell's sis never paid Squall back. So...what's up with that? Did the kid just run off with his ten bucks? Who the hell came up with the word 'mosh'? As in, 'mosh'pit? Mosh...tosh...squash? Maybe that's it... Do you want Bush or Kerry to win? and,finally, Could you explain Squall's background further? - desianhawk

_Zell's sis will come back soon. I don't know who invented the word mosh but he did a great job of it. Kerry. And no. His past isn't important, aren't you interested in his FUTURE? If he has one that is ... _

10. Has the Eat Bacon forum been shut down? -Quiet Rain

_Yes, sorry for the inconvinience._

11. How many chapters is this going to be? -E

_No clue._

12. Why does god hate me so?! -Fade to Black

_I'm not sure if it's God or not. But mmm, Davey Havok ... _

13. hey, the red sox won? -Pretty Like Drugs

_And the Montreal Expos died ... what's the world coming to?_

Thank you for your questions! If you do not see your question has been answered here, it means you asked one relating to what would happen further on in the story and I'm sorry but I can't answer those.


	23. Vindicated

"_Forgiveness is the answer to the child's dream of a miracle by which what is broken is made whole again, what is soiled is again made clean."_

_-Dag Hammarskjold_

**Vindicated**

_Hope dangles on a string _

_Like slow spinning redemption _

_Winding in and winding out _

_The shine of it has caught my eye _

_And roped me in _

_So mesmerizing, and so hypnotizing _

_I am captivated, _

_I am..._

"Damn it, go the hell away!" She was emotionally drained and only wished to be left alone so she could stop thinking about what had happened today. It was too much to deal with in only a short day, "I'm exhausted, Squall ... if you want, we'll talk about this tomorrow but not now, I just want to sleep. It's been a long day, please ... just leave now." She made her way to the door to open it for him but he grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her against the wall.

Squall cursed aloud in rage, "Is there a fucking reason you run away all the time?" She only stared back defiantly at him, "Why can't you just face the music and deal with the situation now instead of later? Carpe diem, Rinoa, seize the fucking day already because I'm sick of waiting for an appointment with you!"

"Are you deaf?" Rinoa hissed at him, "I just told you that I wanted you to leave so I could rest. I don't feel like dealing with your stupid moods right now, I don't feel like dealing with _you_. You're going to go, Squall ... or I'll scream loud enough to wake the entire city ..." She ended with a threatening note and a glare to accompany it.

"Scream? You'll scream? Is that all, Rinoa?" Squall seethed vehemently, unmoving from his ominous position, "Aren't I the asshole that destroyed you? Aren't I the bastard who twisted your damned, precious soul into an unrecognizable contortion?" His voice rose in a violent crescendo of fury, "And all you'll fucking do is scream?!"

Rinoa choked back a rising sob and glowered back in an attempt to seem imposing but she remained silent. "Do you always _scream _when you're in trouble? When you're scared? Did you scream in the clinic? When they tore the fucking baby out of you?" As the words left his mouth, he realized the mistake.

Her eyes widened with an incandescent layer of tears. Through the windows of the soul, he could see hers shattering with a single gasp that escaped her lips. Squall witnessed her entire being die, her dignity, her pride, her _privacy_. "I ..." He began awkwardly but he only saw a flash of raven hair as she swiftly turned from him and fumbled with the handle of the doors leading to her balcony.

_Vindicated _

_I am selfish _

_I am wrong_

"What have I done?" Squall watched her shadowy figure to the balcony where she stood on the edge in the pouring rain. His horrified eyes only reflected a portion of the torrent whirling inside of him like an erupting windstorm. "Oh God, what have I done?"

She let the raindrops pour down her face ... perhaps in a vain attempt to hide her own tears. Rinoa grappled the chrome ramp and sucked in a rattling breath. She pressed her fingers against the cool, wet metal until her knuckles turned white and began to hurt. She ignored the pain ... everything was hurting now anyways, everything was broken.

Rinoa felt the drops sink in deeper than her jean jacket but made no move to go back in. _Did you scream in the clinic? When they tore the fucking baby out of you? Is that all you did? Scream? _One hand left the ramp and covered her mouth and she let out an anguished cry. It felt like something ripping her apart again.

She heard uncertain footsteps and took up arms before he even got close, "Don't touch me!" She heard him stop to respect her wishes for a moment. Rinoa swallowed back tears, sobs and weeps ... she couldn't do this in front of him. She couldn't do this in front of anyone.

Squall cautiously attempted to approach the crushed woman once more. He clumsily laid his hand on her shoulders and felt the shuddering of her entire body, "I'm sorry." He whispered softly as his other arm looped around her waist, "I'm sorry."

"I told you not to touch me!" She yelled and he stumbled backwards, narrowly dodging a second slap as she whirled around dangerously, "_You_ arean asshole, a bastard, an idiot, a prick and every other derogative term in my extensive vocabulary that I seem to have misplaced at the moment." The tyrannous Rinoa paused to gasp in a short breath, "You're just like any other damn male in this godforsaken city!"

He let her vent, thinking it quite unwise to interrupt her ranting, "Yeah ... I did scream. I've been screaming non-stop since I was fifteen years old, Squall! I screamed when my mother died, I screamed when I ditched you but never have I screamed louder than when I voluntarily lost what I thought would be the most important thing in our lives! I've screamed my entire fucking life so why break the habit?" Tears coursed in silent rivers down her cheeks, fed by the strong current of the rain against her face, "I'll scream while you finish the job you started so long ago ... I hope I drown in this, I don't want anyone to save me from you."

_I am right _

_I swear I'm right _

_Swear I knew it all along _

_And I am flawed _

_But I am cleaning up so well _

_I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself _

"Rinoa ..." He whispered her name with such sorrow, with such bittersweet melancholy. His dark brown eyebrows furrowed as his eyes closed to avoid her piercing accusatory ones, "I ... I don't want to hurt you anymore." The rain was pounding on him like the weight of a murder.

There was a breathless incredulity to her tone, "You ... you don't want to _hurt me_?! Gee, Squall, that's comforting ... really it is because ever since I've been with you, I've been getting these vibes that you were waiting for the opportune moment to trip me onto my ass. Little do you know that you hadn't even need try to succeed, Goddamnit, are all men fucking blind like you? Or was it some kind of frickin' game to you? What was it, please?" Her voice was quavering as more tears mixed in with the pouring rain, "Just tell me so I can justify whether this is all my fault or if you really are a damn asshole!"

Her arms fell limply to her sides as if announcing defeat. Rinoa couldn't help the tormented moan that escaped her lips. She summoned her remaining strength to bring a hand to her face in a vain attempt to hide this ultimate moment of weakness. She refused to look at him, a mute figure that she had only dreamt of for the past few months.

Rinoa had no will left to fuel her for a fight when she felt his hands grip her shoulders, gently this time. Her head leaned against his chest and she loathed the feeling of safety it provided. Squall cupped her chin with his hand and made her face look up to him, "I wasn't blind, but it wasn't a game. I guess I'm just a damned asshole."

Slowly, he bent down towards her. It was like an oncoming train in a dark tunnel, Rinoa saw it, she heard it but she would not move. His lips met her trembling ones with unmatchable perfection. _Drowning, drowning, drowning ... _she watched his eyes close and his eyelashes catch the raindrops.

Squall tasted the tears he was responsible for. He was soaked to the bone but it didn't matter right now as his arms wrapped around her waist to draw her closer to him. His kiss enraptured her and her eyes closed as her lips parted, granting him permission to make the kiss more intimate.

_So clear _

_Like the diamond in your ring _

_Cut to mirror your intention _

_Oversized and overwhelmed _

_The shine of which has caught my eye _

_And rendered me so isolated, so motivated _

_I am certain now that I am..._

Their lips separated as softly as they had embraced each other. Squall kissed the tip of her nose, her closed eyes and her forehead, feeling only the coldness of the rain and her bitter sorrow. "I didn't mean to do this. I'm sorry."

He felt her head slowly lean onto his chest, "Sorry doesn't mean much to me anymore." Rinoa whispered softly, "Nothing does."

Squall swallowed hard and attempted to warm her deadly cold body, "Let's go inside. We're going to catch something." He guided her back to her door and held it open for her as she wearily took cover from the storm.

He looked back to see a flash of lightning and hear the menacing rumble of thunder from Zeus' throat. Squall followed Rinoa back in and stared at her back. She was taking off her jean jacket, weighted by the rain. Rinoa tossed it on the already dirty couch and brushed a few wet strands from her face.

Unable to contain his need anymore, he looped his arms around her awkwardly and held her for a moment before she broke the moment by releasing herself from his grip, not violently but with unmatchable grace. She turned around, her eyes still brimming with tears locked deeply into his azure ones, with all the courage she possessed, with all the will to die, she quavered, "Squall, I don't need you."

Squall blinked back surprise but then he smiled mournfully and murmured weakly, "Ok, but ... _I_ need _you_." He took her hands in his and pulled her close again. His lips caressed hers again, she did not object since fresh tears had broken anew.

_Vindicated _

_I am selfish _

_I am wrong _

_I am right _

_I swear I'm right _

_Swear I knew it all along _

_And I am flawed _

_But I am cleaning up so well _

_I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself_

She pushed away from his kiss, "Stop it." It was a hoarse whisper, a beg, a plea, "Don't do this to me again, stop it." Rinoa closed her eyes to shelter her from his sapphire ones that she could let herself drown in. She felt his fingertips lightly brush away the two coursing rivers of tears from her cheeks.

"I love you." Squall admitted softly, hesitantly.

"No you don't." She answered curtly, her eyes snapping open, shooting daggers of accusation, "Shut up, you don't even know what those words mean ..." Her voice quavered and broke with a fresh wave of tears slowly tracing pain down her flushed cheeks.

"Please, Rinoa ... I'm sorry." He uttered, refusing to close his eyes so she could see right to his intentions. Squall Leonhart could not tell a lie tonight nor could he deny the truth.

"Leave me alone." Rinoa gasped a short breath, trying to pull away, "Please, just go away. You're not sorry, you're not sorry at all. You don't even know half of what you should be sorry for, Squall Leonhart!" Her voice rose in a quavering crescendo, "Your pointless apologies won't bring back our ... _my _..." Her trembling fingers closed onto his leather jacket for support.

"I know, Rinoa, I'm aware of that." Squall confessed through clenched teeth as he grabbed her by the waist, softly pulling her from him, "But when did you try to talk things out? When did you tell me, 'Squall, we need to sit down and chat.' You never gave me a chance, Rinoa! You never told me _anything_!"

"Because you weren't listening!" Rinoa yelled, as if for the first time she was learning to channel her pain outwards, "You never _listened_, Squall! I was always talking to a goddamn wall! And I hate you for it! This isn't something you can make up to me ... just ... _get out of my face_!"

It was like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Squall just stared at her, his mouth loosely open. The moment stretched into an eternity and stuck to both of them. Rinoa had clamped her lips tightly together to avoid saying anything else but she could do nothing about her endless tears.

_So turn up the corners of your lips _

_Part them and feel my fingertips _

_Trace the moment, fall forever _

Squall brokenheartedly let go of her frail body, "Is that all you want?"

There was a pause and she shook her head, whimpering, "Just go away."

"Rinoa, answer me." He ordered sternly, trying to catch her eyes without luck.

"Hey, do me a favor and _bite me_!" She snapped, still far from in the mood to discuss anything more with Squall Leonhart. For once, ironically, he listened. He swiftly caressed her cheek with the palm of his hand and softly, gently bit down onto her lower lip, reeling in for a kiss. His fingertips brushed stray locks of hair behind her ears and grazed her moist cheeks.

She gripped the collar of his jacket and whimpered against his mouth. Rinoa tasted the blood from his cut lip, he was real and that was enough to yield tears from her closed eyes. Squall pulled apart but didn't let go. Her eyes remained closed, her hands still locked onto his collar, he whispered as her eyes fluttered open, "Just one more time. One night since answers seem to be so hard to give."

Rinoa's last wall of resolve crumbled and drained her strength. This was just too hard. Maybe that is why, that night, she fell into his arms so easily. She didn't resist when he kissed her cheek, her mouth ... she didn't oppose his body pressed against hers. Instead, she relished in it, devouring his lips as if they were a foreign delicacy that she had been craving for years. The tears stopped.

She pulled his jacket off from his shoulders and pushed it down his arms to let it fall to the floor almost noiselessly. Squall wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her closer. They broke apart, gasping softly for air. Rinoa's hands were placed onto his chest as she guided him towards the room.

_Defense is paper-thin _

_Just one touch and I'd be in _

_Too deep now to ever swim against the current _

They stood inches apart; she waited while he pulled off his boots and socks. If she had noticed earlier, she would have reprimanded him but it seemed like a very insignificant detail at the moment. As the second boot accompanied by a sock hit the floor, Squall resumed kissing her eagerly and they stumbled backwards a bit. Rinoa wrapped her arms around his middle and felt for the end of his shirt. When the fabric brimmed her fingertips, she pulled it over his head, breaking from his lips for a split-second.

The t-shirt was disposed of and went to join the boots and socks. She moaned against his mouth and indulged in the rough feel of his hands that slipped underneath her shirt and tugged it upwards and off her head. His lips grazed her neck as he let the shirt drop near his own. Squall trailed butterfly kisses to her now bare shoulders.

Rinoa sighed and let him push her gently onto her bed. They tumbled softly onto it together and let the sealed passion escape, let the soothing flames of desire enrapture and satisfy them.

_La distance est à l'amour ce que le vent est au feu: il éteint les petits et fait pétillé les grands._

_So let me slip away_

_So let me slip away_

_So let me slip away_

_So let me slip against the current _

_White. Like an angel's gown, the color of purity. It wasn't like the gray, marble buildings of Deling city, it wasn't the crimson of the blood-painted streets, it wasn't the gold, the green, the greed. It wasn't anything she had known before. But she liked it. A certain comfort in the unfamiliarity, it was a peculiar feeling to her._

_It was so white; she had the impression of bathing in forgiving light. Was that the comfort in it all? Mercy. God have mercy. Let me lay in his arms for a while longer. Don't take him away just yet. Let me linger here, let me escape the rampant chaos, just let me live here a little longer. Let me pretend the past never happened._

_But she wasn't in his arms anymore. She was alone. Alone in this white, forgiving light that wasn't threatening but so lonely. Limbo? False purgatory nearer to Hell than Heaven? Another dream, right? Great ... one, two, three ... wake up. Wake up ... wake up! Futile. Morpheus had compiled this one himself and she would have to bear it. He had worked so painstakingly hard on this nightmare ... scrupulously carving its fangs, claws, it's black feathered wings. His work would not be wasted._

"_Hi mommy."_

_Rinoa turned on her heel and faced a porcelain doll, her cheeks flushed with pink that contrasted with the sapphires, gems that were taken for eyes. Locks of ebony fell onto her forehead, cascading down to her shoulders. A perfectly shaped nose, more like her fathers but lips like her mother's. Tiny hands that were hidden behind her back. Seven years old, fit to be a princess._

_Don't speak to figments of your imagination it's a step further into your insanity. "Are you sad, mommy?" The half-angelic face tilted to the side and frowned, "Why are you crying, mommy? Why are you so sad?" The little girl took a hesitant step towards her mother, "Don't cry, everything will be alright ... for you."_

"_Are you crying because you hurt me, mommy?" Arielle leaned forward, a look of questioning, of confusion on her small face that was pretty enough to be considered a masterpiece, "You know, I wanted to do so many things. I wanted to be like all the other kids, I wanted to build sandcastles, I wanted to play tag, I wanted to cry, I wanted to laugh, I wanted you to kiss me good-night and tell me you loved me ... I wanted to live, mommy, didn't you know?"_

"_And it hurt. It hurt so much." Her azure eyes brimmed over with dread, with pain, "They ripped me apart and the hurt just didn't go away, mommy, it wouldn't stop. And you didn't say anything, you never said anything to stop them from hurting me." A trickle of blood slid like a tear down the side of her face. Blood, it was seeping onto her clothes, from her arms, legs, everywhere, streams of blood._

"_Why didn't you try to stop them, mommy? Why didn't you tell them that they were hurting me? Didn't you love me? I thought I was supposed to be special, wasn't I good enough? That hurt more than anything, mommy, why didn't you protect me? You didn't love me."_

_For the first time, Rinoa managed to sob, "No, that's not it."_

"_You didn't love me. If you had, you would've helped me. I was so scared, and sad ... sad that you didn't care. Why, mommy? Why did you have me if you didn't want me? Why did you have to make me hurt so badly?" The stains of her blood specked the white surroundings, it drenched her clothes, and her face was contorted now into something unrecognizable, her limbs didn't look attached anymore._

_A shrill shriek pierced Rinoa's soul, "WHY DIDN'T YOU DO ANYTHING?!"_

Rinoa could only mirror that shriek with her horrified scream as she bolted to a sitting position in her bed, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably, "Woah, woah, woah!" Squall woke with a start and grabbed her waist, "What's wrong? What is it?"

She thrashed against his embrace, "No, no, no!" Her face moist from a tirade of unstoppable tears, "Don't touch me, I think I'm going to be sick!" A lump had risen to her throat and threatened to move onwards but it never did. It just remained, providing her with a choking feeling.

"Rinoa!" Squall held down her fists that she had been beating him with for the past thirty seconds, "That's enough, stop, breathe ..."

_So let me slip away_

_So let me slip away_

_So let me slip away_

_So let me slip away_

She remained still, concentrating on the rhythmic beating of his heart in his chest, unlike her frenzied pulsations that wouldn't regulate. Rinoa stopped trying to fight, she tried to breathe but the gasps of air caught in her throat and broke out with the incessant sobs that hiccupped through her entire body.

How long did they stay like that? Time had no meaning anymore. "Calm down ... shh ..." Here she was, being solaced by a man she had fallen in love with, by a man she had shot down, by her daughter's father. From employee, to lover, to enemy, to standing ground. Did she love him? Eternally.

"I want to die, let me, please let me." She whimpered softly, trembling in his arms.

_Vindicated _

_I am selfish _

_I am wrong _

_I am right _

_I swear I'm right _

_Swear I knew it all along _

_And I am flawed _

_But I am cleaning up so well _

_I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself _

"No, what's wrong with you? Jesus ..." Squall appeased her balled fists and interlaced their fingers, "I'm here, Rinoa, I'm right here." He whispered and kissed her temple, "Everything's going to be fine, everything is ok now, everything _will _be good, ok?"

"Nothing can ever be alright again. Not for me."

_Slight hope _

_Dangles on a string _

_Like slow spinning redemption..._

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: **I hope you all realize that writing this chapter damn well killed me. This piece of garbage is so corny, I could put it in the microwave for two and a half minutes and I'd get a nice, buttery snack. Yes, I know that possibly a great majority of you enjoyed it, and as much as I am a hopeless romantic myself, I just think that this chapter is so ... so ... here, let me demonstrate ... BAHAHAHAHAHAAA, WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS THAT? HAHAHAHA!!! There, that's what it is. An accursed joke. 

First off, I completely RUINED the characters I had been building up for CHAPTERS on end. Face it, Squall and Rinoa are SO not supposed to act like that. But whatever, right? They're together, happy, satisfied and NO, no, this is not the end. I'm not letting them off so easily, that would be sacrilege and as a writer, I would deserve a hanging. Anyway, I had to bring them together in SOME way. Needless be it the LEAST creative way possible. The only worthy part of this chapter was Rinoa's hauntingly morbid dream.

I just feel so disappointed with this chapter because I had sworn to myself that if I decided to piece their lives, I would do it in a realistic and worthwhile way. If people enjoyed it, I'm not saying you're idiots, farthest thing from it actually. I'm just not particularly satisfied with this, if you thought it was the greatest thing since Harlequin, then by all means - review.

I don't want any reviews stating, "I totally agree with you." Frankly, I don't CARE if you agree with me, I KNOW how distastefully sappy this chapter is, last thing I need is for someone to try and gain my appreciation by AGREEING. It won't work unless you have a justified reason. I'm in QUITE the foul mood.

The song 'Vindicated' belongs to Dashboard Confessional. And yeah, the quote in French, I've no idea who said it but I'm not taking credit for it. The reason I left it in French is because it loses its power when translated. So for people who are linguistically challenged, here's the dismal translation, "Wind is to fire as distance is to love, it kills the sparks but feeds the bonfires." Plus, maybe a French quote will label me as an intellectually heightened writer. Ha-ha, what a laugh - I'm on a roll with the funnies today.

I created an FF8 Fanfiction/paraphenalia forum and I hope some of you would be interested to join.  Just be a happy poster and do what you will, I hope the interest will be great enough for people to join: ff8fanfiction . proboards37 . com/index . cgi

There are NO SPACES in the actual URL, if you are unsure, check out my profile and the actual link is posted there.  I can't seem to post links in the chapters for some obscure reason.


	24. Pathos

_Tidal waves, they rip right through me_  
_Tears from eyes worn, cold and sad  
__Pick me up now  
__I need you so bad …_

_-Blink-182 (Down)_

**Pathos**

"You know what we look like?" A short but flexible youth snapped at Zell, sitting in his usual position behind his desk, "Like a bunch of freakin' jokers. We've got virtually no territory, no men, no money, no nothing! This is all a fucking joke!"

"I don't see what the big panic is about, guys …" Zell began but was cut off by another one of his complaining men.

It was a tall, well-built Bruce Lee look-a-like this time who spoke up gruffly, "And this wonderful ally … Rinoa Heartilly … what the hell can she possibly do for us? She's too busy keeping her own ass off the stove that she's got no time for us. What we need is what Diabolos has. Trepe's got millions of opportunities to get this thing off the ground. We're just standing around like a bunch of mofos, looking at the seasons pass. What we need is a real ally, Dincht. Getting me?"

"You guys don't seem to understand that Deling city is a powder keg just looking for one tiny spark!" Zell countered aggressively, "Let the worst pass and then we jump into the ashes and claim whatever we want. I don't want to get involved. Allies or no allies, we're still short of territory, men, weapons, money, everything like mentioned before! And now isn't a good time to start brawling with others to get that! Stay out of the conflict. This is a 'go for the gold' we can't afford to participate in!"

"I think Zell's right." An older, calmer member spoke up quietly though with firm intentions, "We should just let this whole thing blow over. Chances are a gang isn't going to make it to the finish line. So whatever they lose, we grab without resistance. We'd be avoiding unnecessary sacrifices."

"See, that's your problem, Lee … you never really saw the big picture." The first man turned to the reasonable speaker, "You were never able to seize the full potential of this damn organization if the goddamn motto, 'patience is a virtue' was abolished. I'm not suggesting action out of recklessness, rather out of fucking boredom and humiliation of being part of this shitkicking group of jerk-offs."

There was a division in the room like none other before. For some, it was time for a revolution, for others, prosperity depended on the old ways. Tsang, who had crept into the dojo after having narrowly escaping what he thought was Trepe's set-up, heard all this from the hallway. He smirked to himself and shook his head. It would be so easy to win over a disarrayed council. Child's play. He pushed his way through the rice paper door and the twelve men in the room turned to him. Most wore looks of shock.

"I was beginning to miss you fellows." He smirked maliciously, hands in his pockets, "There really is no place like home."

"Tsang, you … were supposed to be transferred to the D-District prison." One man stuttered, wide-eyed.

"Yeah … I was." Another acrid snigger, "But, I bailed … managed to do it on my own though I do appreciate all the help my … 'family' supplied."

"You went on a freak-show killing spree, goddamnit, Tsang, you expected me to pay the bail? With what? Did you want me to donate a kidney to the black market to get you out of jail? For Christ's sake!" Zell's cheeks were flushing with rage, for what it mattered he had heard of Tsang's escape but never would he have thought the old 'friend' would resurface at the Wakasenshi dojo.

"I'll start pointing fingers whenever I want, Dincht." Tsang snarled back. A few seconds of silence passed and his snide demeanor returned, "Where's Selphie?"

"Away." Zell replied curtly, his hands balled to ready fists.

"Too bad." The hitman shrugged and turned towards the fellow members of the Wakasenshi, his old teammates, "I look at you guys and I think to myself, 'What a bunch of pathetic, whining dogs.' … are some of you even worth my effort? No. But a select few are. Hear the call of revolution, gentlemen. Mr. Dincht, our respected leader for years has been locking our potential and throwing away the key. Martial arts are a thing of the past. Human beings are such weak, frail things … our fists can not replace a lead bullet, our feet can not substitute for machine guns and these facts wouldn't matter if we were allowed to drink from that cup of damn technology! I feel like I'm still speaking to knights in clanky armor, to samurais with their katanas … we're backwards and Dincht has kept us this way."

No one spoke so Tsang went on, stringing his words together in the somber ways that poets do, "We deserve this war. We deserve this city. We deserve a leader that will allow us to fight for what is rightfully ours. Backstreets have been our home for far too long. The Wakasenshi need no allies. We need no one except ourselves and understand that you would see this … if only … if only he," And he pointed the finger of shame towards the blonde-haired martial artist, "allowed us to open our eyes and to unleash the power within ourselves. Deling is a city close to hell's heart. If you can't beat them, join them, gentlemen. Become the blood-thirsting bloodhounds that have helped Dincht keep us down!"

"This is a load of horse shit!" Zell pounded his fists on the table and roared out menacingly, "Don't try to sway my men with your bullshit about this Utopic crap! I'll agree with you, Wakasenshi has been kept down by the other gangs, and I have done my efforts to discourage the use of guns but power and money isn't what this group was originally about! What ever happened to our first cause?"

"_Your men?_" Tsang snapped viciously and turned towards the Wakasenshi members, "See what he refers to you as? Possessions! You are not your own men, you are _his _men! Should you stand for this? Should you-"

"_Don't twist my motherfucking words!_" Zell bellowed out and jumped from his chair in rage.

"And this … first cause?" Tsang continued, ignoring Zell's outburst, "You mean the empowerment of the poor? That is, in other words, the overthrowing of the rich and what have you done to justify that cause lately? Nothing."

The argument rattled on, louder and louder until a tiny head popped into the room, the rest of her body hidden behind the doorframe and the wall. Dincht's attention immediately turned towards her, "Go back to your room, Arianna."

"But you're being _loud_." The tiny girl whined, collecting a few sniggers from the other grown men.

"I said _go_." She had never seen this look in her brother's eyes before. Fury. Afraid, she backed out of the room and remained in a desolate corner of the hallway to listen intently to the escalating quarrel. More accusations were thrown about, more curse words, until finally, a resolution.

"I'm getting tired of this, aren't you?"

She heard the shuffling of feet, clicks of lead being loaded. Afraid, Arianna snuck into the closet nearby and shut the door, trying to block out the sudden screams, some crying for mercy. She pressed her hands on her ears as tears ran down her face, "What's happening?" She wouldn't look. Last time she snuck a peak at something, it was her father being torn apart by a thousand bullets and that still haunted her today.

After everything would fall silent, her brother would come to her. He would pick her up and carry her to her room again while whispering promises that everything would be okay. Soon … after the shrieks would die out. Soon.

The child fell asleep, curled into a fetal position and crying in a corner of the dark closet, to the ravaging cries of men being ripped apart in the next room. She beheld little thought to the violent twist of fate that would mean things would never really be 'okay' again.

HE HAD MANAGED to calm the tyrant that had arose at half past three in the morning. It had been a feat he would rather avoid facing in the future. The mere touch of his hand had fueled her frantic panic and it had even sparked a certain violent anger. But after collective minutes of seemingly fruitless attempts to sooth her, fatigue gripped her and she was too worn out to fight.

So Squall had cradled her in his arms as if she was a fragile child, a fallen angel with a broken wing. She had closed her eyes, tears caught in her long lashes and had whispered softly to him, "I can't take this anymore." He hadn't replied, only kissed her on the forehead and it seemed to cast her back into an uneasy sleep. Her breathing became rhythmic and regular again but he didn't let her go.

This was his fault, wasn't it? He had been the cause of those unrelenting nightmares that plagued her sleep. How many times had she woken up screaming like this? How many times had she comforted herself alone? Squall closed his eyes and sighed painfully. He understood her when she said sorry didn't mean much anymore.

What God to pray to? What do you say to the One who's pulling the strings? The One you've been pissing off for the past twenty-four years of your life? "Don't take her away from me yet, I want to try to make things better." Are your prayers even heard at this point? And what if they aren't? What if she's already gone so far from you that you'll never reach her no matter how fast you run to catch up?

This darkness was strange to him. It was twisted, warped, scary. He suddenly felt sick and very hot. A drop of sweat trickled from his hairline to his eyebrow and he pushed off the covers. No, Leonhart, don't you see? Now she'll be cold. Is there no winning? He pulled them back up and felt an immense heat wave that made him want to vomit. Squall quickly reached for the lamp on the nightstand and clicked it on.

You fool, she's barely been asleep five minutes and you've already woken her again, "I'm sorry, just … I'm not feeling well." She shouldn't have to care, you dolt, "Here." He flicked it off again but let her go and got out from the covers.

He heard her whisper, exasperated, weary, "What the hell are you doing?" Rinoa reached for his hand and held it, slightly inclining him to come back to her.

"I don't know, it's just been quite the eventful evening, night, morning, whatever." Squall did not reciprocate the holding of hands and instead let hers go. He picked up his t-shirt from the floor and pulled in on, unsure of what he was doing. Did he think he was going somewhere? Was he just going to leave her?

That's what she wanted to know, "What, are you just going to leave?" Rinoa's voice beheld a certain anger, and with reason.

"Yeah. No. I don't know."

"Well, can you figure it out?" Now it wasn't just a 'certain anger', it was frustration in its purest form. Her head went back to the pillow and not a single one of her weaknesses betrayed her as they had half and hour ago. Squall stared through the darkness, disbelievingly. She was amazing. How long had she spent carving those masks to her features, how long had she practiced acting with them so skillfully?

"This is my fault." Clever, Leonhart, very clever. Do you expect her to relieve your guilt by denying it?

"What's your fault?" Rinoa asked, almost as if she was mocking him. What's your fault, poor little baby, what's on your conscious? Did you do a boo-boo? What do you need to be forgiven? What little mistake have you just realized making?

"Just everything. Tell me, what're you blaming me for?" He sounded exhausted. Bite the bullet already.

"Who's blaming anyone?" She snapped nastily, "I didn't say _anything_, buddy, you're just looking for shit to throw at the fan."

"Who's looking for shit? If I'm looking for shit, you beat me to it." Squall retorted grabbing his jeans off the floor and, in perfect unison, stubbing his toe on the corner of her dresser, "Sh-fuck." He hissed contemptuously and heard her snickering, "What's so fucking funny?" Squall snarled, doing his best to keep the tears out of his eyes. When she didn't answer him, he stalked to the bed and demanded, "How the fuck do you do this? How can you be so fucking helpless when you've got … like … machine guns on each fucking arm?"

"Oh, been practicing metaphors, have you?" Rinoa retorted sarcastically, "Well, Squall, if you insist - I'm running out of ammo and my arms are getting tired but who the fuck told you I was so damn helpless in the first place? I never asked you anything. I never will. Walk out the door, Squall, and it won't be more of a splinter in my ass. We live, we die and shit happens. What's left in this city, baby? I'm sure everyday you wake up and feel a little less, until one day, you'll feel nothing at all. I'm getting there." Despite the acrid cynicism, she managed to keep a calm tone throughout her entire speech.

"You only say you don't feel anything because the only thing left to feel is fear."

"Maybe."

There are no flowers, no, not this time.

_There will be no angels gracing the lines,_

_Just these stark words I find._

_I'd show a smile but I'm too weak._

_I'd share with you, could I only speak,_

_Just how much this hurts me …_

_Just how much this hurts me …_

_Just how much you …_

The wind outside howled and for a moment, Rinoa thought she had heard the distinct, horrified scream of a child. Her entire body shivered and she found herself without will to intelligently fight the man that stood opposing her once more, "Just leave."

"No fucking way."

There was an uneasy silence, and then in an almost mocking tone, Rinoa asked, "On a scale from one to ten, how much do you want me to need you?"

"Twelve." Squall snapped, almost contemptuously. _There, happy? What else? Want me to get on my hands and knees? Beg? Crawl? _He scrunched down to his knees by her bedside and lay his head down on the edge of the mattress, "Fuck, Rinoa." He spoke through clenched teeth, "What do you want me to do? I'll do it. I swear. Just pretend you need me, pretend I have a fucking purpose. I don't know what to live for anymore, I know I'm a fuck-up but please. I want to make it up to you."

_You don't need to make anything up to me. _She thought dismally, remaining silent, _This isn't only your fault. Intimate suicide is a joint effort._ But Rinoa did not utter a word, instead allowed her hands to gently stroke his face and relish in the words she had wanted to hear for so many years.

IT HAD BEEN hours since the last fired bullet. This fact had been verified by instinct only and instinct seemed to immediately prove theories within children's minds. She hugged her knees and rocked her shaking body back and forth in the desolate closet, trying hard not to sob aloud. If she made too much noise, she might provoke restless ghosts that seemed to haunt the halls.

He had not come for her yet. The meeting had clearly been adjourned, why hadn't her big brother come to put her to bed, whispering stories of lands filled with endless fields of green, galloping stallions, knights, castles and her, the princess amidst the make-believe lands of Avalon. _Where had he gone? _Arianna couldn't really know, she didn't speak to God on a daily basis and had never been taught prayer. Unfortunately, only God knew where Zell was. God and Tsang.

Her breaths were wheezes now and she felt her lungs constricting. Covering her mouth with her hand, she coughed painfully. It was dusty in here. The searing hurt seemed to slash at her chest with each intake of air. _Where's my big brother? Where's Zell? Mommy, daddy, anyone? _No, there isn't a soul.

To ease her anxious pains, she shoved her wrist in her mouth and bit down hard. She used to do it when she was little. Much more little. It always managed to calm her down a little bit but where her brother had noticed the scars around her arms, hands and fingers, he had taken her to a doctor who had consulted a psychologist. Her brother had seemed so distressed that time, she had just stopped doing it altogether and instead had taken it out on her poor dolls.

Her breathing became rhythmic again, but her chest still hurt. Drops of iron seemed to be melting onto her tongue. Now Zell would be mad. She had made herself bleed again.

It was a bit ironic, how Zell really couldn't be mad at her for a few drops of blood since much more than a few drops of _his_ blood had been shed that night.

SQUALL AWOKE IN the most original manner that morning, 'original' having a very antagonistic undertone. He woke part of one big ball of _them_. Their limbs intertwined, pillows in the oddest places, sheets handicapping him from movement and though he was sure it had been incredibly comfortable to begin with, the four hours that had hence passed had cut off the circulation to his arm and had made his leg go into a cramp. Squall strategically managed to shift out from the bed, grumbling with pain, convinced that Rinoa had benefited from the odd tangle more than he had since she was still sleeping like a baby, now wrapped in the comforter.

_Cute_, He sneered almost bitterly at her near comatose state, _Just like old times. The woman sleeps in while the man wakes up bright and early to do the real work._ He glanced at the clock. Seven eighteen. Taking into account the previous night, this was a pretty good time to be functional again. He heaved himself off the bed and limped with his numbed leg out of the room. Squall wondered if she got the paper. Probably. Opening the apartment door just a crack, his hypothesis was confirmed as a copy of the Daily Post and the Deling News sat nicely folded near her door. _Hm, shit, neighbors. _He remarked grumpily as a balding man smiled at him and waved from where he was picking up his own newspaper.

"Hullo there. Never seen you here before." The man smiled dopily. Squall almost cackled nastily, _I know - it's in the male whore job resume … 'don't be spotted'. A convenience that's much to the liking of your wife. _He had always enjoyed playing the 'make-stuff-up-about-folks' game, having had an unmatchable imagination since he was really young. _He's a notary. Met his wife in university, probably wears v-neck sweaters and beige pressed-pants and enjoys a good game of Galbadian football … never had any children - he looks totally unfertile anyway. Apparently, can't mind his own business - likes to secretly observe younger women's lives … that would explain why he knows I haven't been here. _Squall grimaced, almost believing the thought, _Like he has a chance with Rinoa anyway. _That deserved a frown, _Like I ought to have a chance with Rinoa anyway._

_Wait. He's expecting a response._ That did nothing to stir the silence. Having exhausted his patience, he turned back into his own apartment. Squall assumed he was going to be shutting the door behind him but instead, the man hollered out, probably to his wife, "Hunny-bun, I think the mysterious little lady _does _have a boyfriend after all." Squall cringed at the words. Here he was, half outside Rinoa's apartment, wearing only a pair of boxers, being labeled by this impertinent weirdo without a life.

The woman actually came out to have a look, she was more flamboyant than her hubby with her obviously dyed reddish hair, "Oh, isn't that wonderful?" She smiled at Squall at the same time as he gaped back disbelievingly, "She's such a pretty girl, we were wondering if a handsome boy would turn up sooner or later - we've been so curious." _And blatant, apparently. _

"Yeah." Was the one and only word that was allowed to come out of his mouth until unkind thoughts dissipated a little bit, "Yeah." Squall repeated, perhaps for good measure. Seconds later, with the older couple still staring at him, he finally blurted out something along the lines of, "Yeah - I left the pot on the coffee machine - I better go." And quickly shut the door behind him, newspapers in hand.

Positive that Rinoa was still sleeping, he happily announced to her unconscious figure in the bed that her neighbors were a bunch of crazy weebles and that she should consider moving and placing a complaint to the police for stalker-ish behavior. She whined, turned, mumbled and showed no further signs of life.

In case some other random neighbor coming to knock at Rinoa's door, Squall picked up his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head. He then proceeded to pulling on his jeans and socks. Taking a spare pillow that Rinoa wasn't surgically attached to, he lifted it above his head and threw it at her dead-looking body. She moaned and he distinctly heard a curse word slip by. _Surprise, surprise. _

"Wake up, Rin, if only for a few minutes." His smirk turned into a genuine smile. She was beautiful even when she had just woken up, "I said wake up, damn it!" Squall growled, now feeling playful and hit her with the pillow once more.

"No talk. Sleep." She howled out a desperate whine and grabbed his t-shirt, urging him to just shut up and come back to bed.

"I'm going back to my apartment to take my shower and brush my teeth and shave and change my clothes and feed my annoying household pet. Then I will proceed to skinning that pet and making you a wonderful pair of slippers. I'll be back in two hours maximum. It will take that long because I don't know how to sow."

Rinoa looked up at him with tiny eyes, blinked and replied scathingly, "You're so retarded, go away!" She then turned on her side and hugged the pillow that had been used as a weapon against her.

Snidely chuckling to himself, Squall ran his hand through his hair and strut out of the room. He hadn't felt this lighthearted in a while. _Yes, well, in jail, you're more worried about dropping the soap to feel lighthearted. _He argued to himself, unsure if that was supposed to be a joke or a wise reflection.

Probably a wise reflection. He felt like a smartass today.

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles:** The title of the chapter, 'Pathos', actually means suffering in Latin. Awww yeah, Sam's a literary mastermind now. I learnt it in biology … a disease-causing bacteria is called a pathogen and the big, bulky textbook told me what it was derived from … I'm such a nerd, it's barely even funny. Anyway, I thought I could get away without an update this week, being down and weird and all ... guess I was wrong, heh, I lose. Nothing particularly important about this chapter except that it's ... not my best.

Anyway, this is a shortish rant for this week, you must all be so sad that I've got nothing else to say. Well, I've got TWO things to say. 1. REVIEW, please? Or else, I won't post anymore. I post so people read, right? If no one reads, I just might as well not post and just keep the writing to myself. and 2. JOIN the FF8 FANFICTION FORUM NOW! Join it and post ... and be a happy forum-ee.http ff8fanfiction . proboards37 . com Minus the spaces in between the periods. Links don't go well with chapters, ah well ... JOIN! There are **benifits to your memberships like sneak peaks at chapter 25 and so forth of Devil's Playground and maybe other authors' acclaimed fics that you may enjoy** so join now! If you're an author and would like to post previews to your fics and perhaps attract the attention of other readers, join NOW and post your sneak peaks under the section entitled 'Fanfiction'. Now review:

a) Good  
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c) Mediocre  
d) Quite bad / Pathetic


	25. All the Pretty Shades of Gray

_Hello there  
__The angel from my nightmare  
__The shadow in the background of the morgue  
__The unsuspecting victim  
__Of darkness in the valley_

_-Blink-182 (I Miss You)_

**All the Pretty Shades of Gray**

Squall's coming and going was barely recorded. When he entered her room, an hour and a half later looking like Adonis himself, it only felt like he had been gone for two minutes. Not that she minded. "I can't believe you're still lying around." He didn't sound so playful now, more like exhaustingly annoyed, "RINOA!" _Paf! _A pillow violently landed on her head.

"Squall?" She murmured sleepily and made no effort to move or to show any signs that she was going to get up.

"It's 9 o'clock, we have things to do, you take hours to get ready, you haven't started yet, I'm impatient, I'm also hungry, I know you suck at cooking breakfast, the restaurants must be nearly full, HURRY UP!"

"Squall, I'm starting right now … you can't see it, but I'm stretching … very … slowly …" Rinoa yawned and continued fueling the ticking man, "By the time I'm ready, it will be in between breakfast and lunch and so the restaurants will be empty and we have all afternoon to do the things we have to do - what do we have to do anyway? Forget it. Brief me later."

"I'M HUNGRY _NOW!_" He had evolved from 'annoyed' to plain out 'grumpy'. Squall Leonhart had a bad habit of looking unbearably adorable sometimes. Especially with that pout.

"Mmm …" She sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating if she felt ready to achieve the whole 'getting ready' ordeal, "I'm hungry too, hunny, if you want to be a real sweetheart, you can go make pancakes while I take my shower." Rinoa stretched one last time and strut calmly towards the bathroom.

"Pancakes?" He snapped incredulously, "You want me to make you pancakes? You're trying to be funny, aren't you? Ha-ah, yeah, as if I'm going to bust my ass in your kitchen to make Her Majesty some goddamn pancakes, dream on and while you're at - pick up the speed." He watched her body disappear in the bathroom.

Suddenly, her head popped out from the doorframe, she grimaced at him and replied in a steely voice, "Just make the pancakes … _slave._"

He found himself glaring at a suddenly slammed-shut door. He would have actually remained there, giving it his best death look until Rinoa reappeared again however, his stomach was telling him he would die before she finished. Stepping over his pride and ignoring his screaming ego, he resentfully entered the kitchen to begin searching for a pan.

"ARE YOU SUBTLY doing some major ass-kissing for a favor you need to ask me later on?" Ellone asked derisively when she opened the door to find Irvine with two Styrofoam containers, probably coming from a diner where he had picked up her favorite meal of the day - scrambled eggs with sausages and deliciously buttered toast. She could actually smell it and it made her mouth water, much to her dismay. _Oh, scrumptious, fattening goodness … come to mommy …_

"Yes. But enough about me, how're you?" He gave a big, wide, fake smile to expose his perfectly white teeth and allowed himself into the apartment.

"Tired. Did you get any news from Rinoa?" She asked immediately and closed the door quietly behind him, "Any calls? Visits? Whatevers?"

"Not really, but you can rail off your endless guilt trip now. I have a hunch that things will be just fine." He deposited the containers on the table and looked for the coffee machine, "Got any elixir of life freshly made?"

"No, I'll get on that right away." Ellone strode to the counter and filled her coffee pot, "What's your hunch?"

"James called me. He said he gave her a ticket out of here … to Balamb. I don't know if Rinoa's going to listen to him but according to the old man, they had a pretty cleansing conversation. The fact that there's lots of pieces to glue back together isn't forgotten, but I think that may have helped Rin … maybe just a little." Irvine smiled weakly at Ellone and opened a Styrofoam container, "So, seeing as I'll probably be alone in the office today with no one to yell and threaten me, I was wondering if you'd like to watch me make a couple of phone calls and I'd take you out to lunch … and dinner."

Ellone sneered, "Major ass-kissing. And I had forgotten that I'm out of a job because of that little incident with my boss. But I doubt watching you work would be more productive."

"That's the thing, I think I may have a job for you. Here, I'll lay it out for you - twenty-four bucks an hour, an hour and a half lunch break, easy going, near stress-free job requiring no high school diploma, much less a major in anything, two full weeks of holidays a year, unlimited 'sick days', if you get my drift, and virtually no boss." Irvine smirked and sat down at the table, "How's that sound?"

"Fanciful … make-believe." She replied truthfully, "Now be honest with me."

"Sweetheart, I _am _honest." He flashed her one of those irresistible grins, "So, will you lend yourself to a fairytale, if just for a little while?"

"AW, YOUR SUCH a Prince Charming … in … heavy disguise or something." Rinoa cooed lovingly, an hour later when she found Squall in the kitchen, just laying out the plate of pancakes on the table, "Like … as if you're still in frog form … so you're almost there, don't give up."

He growled something under his breath and set the syrup and orange juice next to the large plate of delicious-looking pancakes, complete with a side order of grapes and blueberries that he had actually gone out to get at the corner store after having noticed Rinoa had nothing to make pancakes with. He forked her the first pancake and flipped it into her plate. _I'll see her call me a liar and a bastard next time I tell her I love her, ungrateful little …_

"Asshole!"

Squall gaped at her incredulously, "_What?_" A mixture of confusion and anger colored his face.

"You totally did that on purpose - you gave me the first one … the first ones are always retarded!" She sat down and glared at him accusingly, pointing to the deformed pancake.

He shut his eyes. _She did not just give that lame excuse to pick a fight with me. She HAS to be in PMS, what is WRONG with this woman, she's worse than my mother and I thought NO ONE could be as worse as my mother because my mother was going through menopause for half her life for fuck's sake_. He opened his eyes again only to see her biting her lip, trying to kill the smile before it surfaced. When he stared at her with a raised eyebrow, she cracked a grin and he thought he would melt. How long had it been since he had seen _that _smile? The genuine one, torn from the conformity of the cynical habits.

"Whatever." He muttered, his eyes fixated on her upturned lips, wondering how long they would stay that way. It was as if last night never happened … the angst-riddled conversation, the harsh accusations … his idiotic words meant only to hurt her, "So, do you want to hear what's the schedule for today?" Wrong words, again.

Her smile over turned itself, "I don't see what's so particularly important." He wanted to kick himself. _Why didn't you just shut up? Why couldn't you just let her eat in peace, she doesn't give a shit what business you want to take care of today, for the love of Christ, what'd you go do that for, Leonhart? _He had ruined it all.

"I guess nothing is particularly important." He attempted to cover it up, act like there was no plans, act like he didn't want to talk to her about anything, "Just … maybe … visiting people, I don't know."

Rinoa peered up from her plate at him, "Visiting people? _Like who?_"

He mentally slapped his forehead. _You're one dumb fuck, Leonhart, you are one dumb fuck. _What an excellent question she was asking. Who would they visit? He shrugged and shoveled more pancakes in his mouth. She was silent and he could see she wasn't touching her food … this meant only one thing - his answer had not satisfied her, "I don't know …" He answered, mouth half-full. She stared back, far from amused, he swallowed, "Your brother? Ellone? Your father? Who else? Lynch?"

"Un huh." Her eyes were downcast, back onto her plate again. Squall could figure out by her tone of voice that she didn't particularly feel very sociable today.

IT WOULD HAVE been sheer torture both to him and to her if she had made them sit on the couch and watch television all day. She was well aware but the thought of going out and acting like nothing was wrong was almost repulsing. So when he picked up the keys and gave her an almost pleading look, she was torn between two alternatives.

"Where?" Rinoa asked, eying the set of keys as if it were a foe.

"Anywhere you want to go." It was the best answer he could give, she was aware of that too.

"Fine, let's go."

IRVINE HELD THE Syndicate doors for Ellone open and entered himself afterwards, "So, have you thought about it?"

"I'm thinking about it right now, Irvine, and I'm having trouble believing you." Ellone scowled back and turned towards him, "What is this 'job' you might have for me? Is it something illegal?"

"No." Irvine answered passively and waved his hand as if to say, _I'd NEVER put you in a situation of the likes! _But then tilted his head and shrugged, "Well, maybe. Maybe as in sometimes it is, sometimes it's not. One minute you're the Virgin Mary, the next you're the Devil's whore, it's really a compromise of the both … it's fun, I promise. You get paid to do virtually nothing all day."

Irvine strode to the elevator and summoned it. When the metallic doors slid open, he motioned for Ellone to go in first and then pressed the button for the fourth floor. Ellone still remained very skeptical, "I hate riddles, out with it."

He didn't reply, only strode out of the elevator as a ding sounded and made a beeline for his secretary's desk, "Hey Vicky, any messages for me?"

Vicky was a gum-chewer and bubble-blower, usually sporting tight jeans and equally tight shirts that flattered her already voluptuous curves. A man with a quick eye could always spot the side-straps of her thongs rising far above her low cut jeans. It was inexplicable - this girl always had a tan. A tan that suited well with her flat stomach and pierced belly button. She had been the object of Rinoa's smart comments far more times than once, with her metallic eye shadow and glowing lip-gloss. No one, including her, knew what her natural hair color was, but this week, she was a curly redhead.

To the male employees, Irvine bragged about how many times he had coaxed her into his office - she was his secretary after all so it had never been really hard but to the girls, he claimed he'd never touch a woman like that … who knew what kind of infectious diseases she carried? To Rinoa, he could never really lie, after all - she had been an unfortunate witness and had begged him to lock his door once in a while. She, on her part, had also learnt to knock.

Vicky smiled with her almost plastic-looking lips, snapped her gum and replied, "None at all, Irvy. Are you expecting a call?"

Ellone, who was standing in back of him, rolled her eyes and tried to keep herself from sputtering a rather nasty comment. She did so for her own sake … God only knew what those manicured nails could pierce. It was upon further examination of 'Vicky' that what else should appear to Ellone's eyes than a stretched mini t-shirt, labeling her generously proportioned chest 'If only these were brains'. She could hardly contain herself from gawking. _If only, honey, if only … who WEARS a shirt like that?_

"No, not really. Any messages for my-"

"I absolutely _love _your shirt by the way." Ok, so that one had slipped. It was certainly not Ellone's fault. The sign on that girl's shirt was begging to be addressed.

Irvine stared at Ellone for a moment and cleared his throat. The secretary blew a bubble with her pink gum and it popped. "Ok, Ellone, just go wait for me in my office. I'll be with you in a second. Just let me finish up." He pointed to an oak door and urged her with his eyes.

She raised an eyebrow and replied a bit cynically, "No problem." With a swift turn on her heel, she was off towards his office and she shut the door behind her.

"I can't believe Rinoa and Irvine pay such a dumbass to do virtually nothing all day." She uttered spitefully and stopped herself short, "Oh, he's got to be kidding me." Ellone slapped her forehead, groaned and fell into a chair. It was five minutes before Irvine entered his office, a bit baffled but still smiling, "I don't want her job."

His face fell, "Oh you're kidding me!" He threw his arms up towards the heavens and fell on his knees, "She went into hysterics, Ellone, threatened the future of my children, I did this for you, the least you could do is show your gratitude by assuming the position of the Syndicate general secretary!"

"Irvine - you don't HAVE children."

"Potentially, yes, I do."

Ellone groaned and put her face in her hands, "By appointing me this position you are _insulting _my intelligence, my creative spirit and my talent for journalism … because, yes, I assure you that somewhere, deep within me I have a talent for journalism!"

He sighed a frowned, "Just for a little while … after you get yourself a new job, then feel free to quit but just make me feel like I helped you at some point."

"If I accepted, _I _would be helping _you_!"

"We'd be helping each other, Elle! You get all her benefits, holidays, salary, everything! Think about it!"

"Wait a minute, wait a _fucking_ minute … are you telling me that you were paying that _moron _twenty-four dollars an _hour_?"

"TURN ON FERN …" Rinoa directed and pointed to a dojo, "Right there."

Squall parked on the curb and stopped the engine, "Are you sure you want to go _here_?"

"What's the problem with _here_? I don't really want to see my father, once every ten years is enough, Irvine would only skip around me like a child asking if I'm alright and after what happened the other day, I'd rather avoid your sister for a little longer. The Wakasenshi happen to be nice people to talk to … and anyways, I've been procrastinating another meeting for too long. They might think I'm dead. We wouldn't want that, now would we?" Rinoa explained lightly and got out of the car.

Squall followed suite and leaned against the side of the car, "You know, the man the Trepies were paying last night was an old member of the Wakasenshi. His name is Tsang, he was on the same bus as I was when you got Diabolos to bail me."

"I'd rather not talk about that - and got Diabolos to bail you? I did no such thing." Rinoa replied innocently, shutting the car door and strode towards the doors. Squall followed close behind, mimicking a mocked sign of the cross and prayed silently to his non-existent God, _This girl is impossible, please, give me the strength, give me the wisdom, give me the patience, give me the absolute stupidity required to submit myself to her reign and catalyze the assassination of my pride and dignity. Amen._

Unaware that she had come to a full stop at the doors, he nearly tripped over her, "What? You want me to hold the door?" He snapped, now frustrated and looking from left to right, making sure no one had witnessed the near-accident. Boy, would that have been embarrassing.

She spun around, glaring at him, "Why don't you? Usually, there are personal greeters, but they seem to be on holiday today, make yourself useful." She motioned to the door in a sharp manner.

If only to mock her, he bowed and wrenched the door open for her. Though he tried to bite it back, his impersonation of Igor, Dr. Frankenstein's hunchback assistant, surfaced from his mind and flew out of his mouth, "Yeiiiss, maaiiissstuuur …"

"Thank you, unworthy servant." She smiled for a second time that day. It was worth it just for that.

When they entered the dojo, they should have known something was wrong right off the bat. Rinoa stood rigid, "Why is it so quiet?"

Squall spoke louder than his counterpart and sarcastically at that, "It's like the house of the fricken' dead, is this some sort of Feng Shui crap they do? Be silent … be still … ?"

"Will you stop being a total dipshit?" She whispered hoarsely, "It isn't usually this quiet." She began climbing the stairs slowly, as if afraid to make them crack and set in motion a human-sized mousetrap. Squall had a distinct impression of being someone's prey. The silence was comparable to a piece composed for Alfred Hitchcock classics. He half expected a tiger to leap from the shadows beyond and throw itself at them.

Instead of a haunting figure's silhouette dancing out from the dark wielding a knife, the haunting composition was halted by soft whimpers coming just beyond a closed door. "Sounds like a beaten dog." Squall muttered, "Or something else, but I won't get into that." Rinoa didn't answer him. The set of events that followed unrolled with such anxious panic, no one really registered what was going on.

ARIANNA TRIED TO hold her breath but failed. Fearfully, she clutched her knees as she heard footsteps inching their way to her hiding spot. Who was this? It wasn't her brother, she had heard voices just beyond the closet door and though they hadn't been completely unfamiliar, she was positive that she didn't know them.

_They know I'm in here._ She thought panicked, letting off a quick succession of sobs and shuffling herself deeper into the corner. "What're you doing?" The deeper voice demanded to the first set of feet, the ones closer to the door. She could see the tips of the trespassers' shoes.

There was no hiding from the blinding light that filtered through the void, where the door used to be. Arianna was seized with fear and she let out a piercing cry at the figure standing shell-shocked in the doorway.

SURPRISED, RINOA JUMPED back a few steps and would have fallen over if Squall hadn't caught her and stabilized her footing, "What the fuck?" He cried and peered into the closet in awe. _That's the kid that owes me money! What the hell is she doing in there … child abuse? Anyone a social worker here?_

Though Squall had not fully registered the gravity of the situation, Rinoa now knew that something was terribly wrong. "Who are you?" She kneeled in the doorway of the closet and held out a hand for the tiny child but the act was not reciprocated immediately. Arianna was afraid. Terribly afraid. Yes, she knew her. The pretty Rinoa Heartilly. And the man standing behind her, preoccupied by something else … she knew him too.

Squall moved stealthily down the hall towards the rice paper door and pushed past it. The pancakes rose in his throat as he saw the massacre before him. Bullets had not been enough. The limp bodies hung on the floor, on the desk, each defaced with incredible precision by blades of some kind. The walls had been painted with blood and even the smell … carnage. His eyes darted from mutilated cadaver from mutilated cadaver until he couldn't take it anymore. He turned from the sight and shut the thin door.

Rinoa was still kneeling towards the hiding child, "Grab the kid, and get out. We're going. Now." She stared at him and for a split second, when their eyes locked, she saw the atrocious massacre that he had. The horror, now in her own iris, transferred back to Arianna who was already hyperventilating and sobbing painfully.

Her vision dimmed with endless tears and finally, she made her decision. Her brother was dead. _Zell's dead, Zell's gone forever, just like mommy and daddy. He's not coming back, I'm alone. _Her arms reached out for the woman in front of her who seemed to be radiating safety. "Don't hurt me, please, don't hurt me." She hung on tightly, too afraid to let go. _I don't want to be alone._

AS IRVINE CONTINUED to plead and beg, the phone on his desk gave a ring that startled the both of them. He heaved himself to his feet and picked up the phone casually noticing the number on the caller ID, "The Syndicate, how may I help you, James?"

"The fat-headed mule, I mean … my daughter, didn't board that plane at noon."

"Is this supposed to surprise me?"

"No. What is supposed to _worry _you, however, is that she isn't answering her home phone or her cellular phone. I can't locate Squall Leonhart, and that is very, very nerve racking because for all I know, he may have done absolutely nothing about last night's meeting in the industrial sector." Caraway sounded almost hysteric on the other end and this grinded Irvine's nerves raw.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot and glared at a spot on the wall, "I'll find her."

"Alive, we're all hoping."

Irvine slammed the phone down and grabbed his jacket, "Rinoa and Squall are both M.I.A."

* * *

**Author's Pointless Rambles: **Bah, no comment on this chapter, and who needs it? Had a bad week, had a worse day, feeling absolutely shit-tastic. Review, Goddamnit, please. No feedback no next chapter. Particularly because I don't have a next chapter and I'm not very motivated to write one either. Oh, and the chapter is late, yes, I know, no one needs to remind me. 


	26. Crushed Petals

_A pill to make you numb  
__A pill to make you dumb  
__A pill to make you anybody else  
__But all the drugs in this world  
__Won't save her from herself._

_-Coma White (Marilyn Manson)_

**Crushed Petals**

It had been a long time since Rinoa had stepped into a hospital. Ten years. The smell still made her sick to her stomach … the stench of illness and of dying. The pale blue walls, the fluorescent lights … Christ, everything in here was ugly to accommodate every 'hopeless case' to their deaths. _Hopeless_. _I'm sorry Mr. Caraway, it's become hopeless. The malignant cells have spread throughout the body. _Her father hadn't looked at her then, when the doctors announced _that_ with fake sympathy. In fact, it had been months that he had been averting his daughter's eyes and it would be years before he would even begin to glance at her again.

_Irony. Like the blood she draws from biting on her tongue to keep control. Alone in the hallway, she plays a game. Stare at a spot on the linoleum floor. A nurse rushes by and stops abruptly to look at the young lady, "Are you alright, hunny?" Her uniform is the color of the walls. Ugly._

_Don't break your gaze for such a petty question, "Yes, quite." Her words are sharpened stone … jagged and cold._

"_Are you Mrs. Caraway's daughter?" The nurse is bending down towards her now, piqued with concern for the girl she nearly mistook for a fathom of her imagination. So transparent, leaning against the wall, her eyes downcast._

"_No. I don't know a Mrs. Caraway."_

"_Alright, well if you need anything, my name is Arielle and I'll always be on this floor … who are you waiting for?" She reaches for the girl's shoulder and shakes it gently, "What's your name?"_

_Nurses are always such nosey bitches. Rinoa's vacant eyes turn from the floor and cut into the 'Arielle's' heart, "At 1:36 p.m. today, I stopped waiting for someone because the doctors told me she would never come and my name doesn't matter because there isn't anyone that cares anymore. No, I don't need anything you can give to me."_

_The nurse's sapphire eyes look to the floor, "My condolences." The nurse straightens herself and disappears into the Intensive Care hallways. To add to the sorrow, Rinoa is now numbed by a certain guilt, like after a clash with her mother. 'Arielle the nurse' strides back out into the hallway and approaches the teenager with a certain guard. She holds something in her hands … her hands. _

_Rinoa looks at her almost scornfully again but holds back her tongue as the nurse begins to speak soothingly, "Before your mother passed away, she gave us this and told us to give it to her daughter. Are you Rinoa?"_

"_No. Fuck you." She wants to say but instead, she begins to cry as she sees, in the palm of Arielle's hand, a solitary steel band carved with her mother's initials. The cold silver ring is dropped into her hand and she stares at it, almost contemptuously. She looks back to Arielle's hands … ever so similar to her mother's hands. The contrast is almost non-existent as the nurse wipes away a tear from the grief-stricken girl, "As long as you keep loving her, your mother will live through you."_

_Lies. But they're the most comforting lies she has ever heard._

"I love talking to walls." The words seem a bit rich, it might be because of the voice they belong to. Squall's. She jerked back from the past and back into the crowded waiting room in the Deling hospital and the first thing she registered are those blue eyes, "Since your not listening, I assume I should complain _now_ so I can hear _you _later - we've been waiting for half an hour in a crowd of stupid people with stupid injuries …" Those eyes wandered across the room, unaware that her attention (and others' attention as well) was now completely on his rant, "A guy … passed before us … had one of those sex toys stuck in his ass. His girlfriend made him do it. They thought it would be, what's the word? Oh yeah, _'exciting'_ … I never want to have sex again-"

"I guess I'll have to hold you to that." She snapped sarcastically, "What's your problem now?"

"You pick the best times to snap out of it." He growled contemptuously and continued to scan the crowded waiting room.

"So, this guy actually … um … had 'something' lodged in his …" She didn't know if she even dared finish her sentence.

"I don't know, he was walking like it, I assumed. Pity you missed it."

"You assume too much." She reprimanded and his gaze finally found hers.

"Do you know how bored I am? How long we've been waiting here or even _why _we're waiting?" He drawled cynically and leaned in towards her.

"I can imagine how bored you are if you're having private story-telling times with yourself, I know we've been waiting for a while but we're waiting for the kid so just shut up and act like you care, ok?" Her response was sharp and without sympathy.

"The kid looks fine." He jerked his head towards Arianna who had fallen asleep, slumped into the chair next to Rinoa, "Blissful even."

"Quit being such a total jerk!" Rinoa hissed, "She's hurt herself at the wrist and obviously she was doing some pretty scary hyper-ventilation in the car. Anyway, would it honestly kill you to be just a bit more compassionate once in a while? I'm not saying always because God knows that _would_ kill-"

"Fine." He got up from his waiting chair and strode past the aisle of chairs and ill-infected people to the reception desk where a nurse was doing apparently nothing, "Hey, we've been waiting here for a good portion of our lives and I was just wondering if we'll get to see a doctor before the kid dies? Yeah, that kid in the chair … yeah, she's already in a coma, for Christ's sake, are you just gonna look at me? Come on, lady, we need a trained professional here, buzz an intern, a PHD-holder, who cares?"

"That child is just sleeping, sir, there are other cases much worse than yours and they're still holding on just fine, please sit down and myself or the following shift will call you." The nurse with horn-rimmed glasses croaked,

"Yes, I agree, there are cases much worse than mine … like that old man in the corner. He's much worse off than me … at least I'm still alive!" He was speaking loud enough for the entire room to hear now and Rinoa had hidden her face in her hands out of sheer embarrassment. When she had told him to be compassionate and act like he cared, she had never really assumed he would listen. "I'm not here to start some trouble or to be hauled out here by cops, just so you know, I'm here to get that kid a tetanus shot and some oxygen and then you'll never see me again."

_A tetanus shot? _Rinoa groaned and rubbed her temples. _Was that supposed to be funny? _Squall was still arguing vividly with the nurse in the background when Arianna woke up and looked around, straightening herself in her chair, "Squall's just making a fool out of himself, just a few more hours to go since he's pissing the nurse off." She muttered, unsure if she was talking to herself or informing the child.

"He's nice, he once lent me ten dollars so I could eat." Arianna replied monotonously, staring at her shoelaces.

"You've met him before?" Rinoa asked curiously, tucking some of the child's caramel locks behind her ears and trying to catch her eye. Her answer was a nod.

There was a moment of silence between the two and Arianna spoke again in a hushed tone, filled with sorrow and uncertainty, "Rinoa … is my brother dead?" Salty tears brewed in her eyes but she didn't want to let them fall.

It took a while for the adult to answer, unsure really of what to say, "Well, nothing is ever for sure so I really don't know. Maybe there's more to last night than what really happened." _I didn't see anything, I didn't see anyone, I won't say. God, please, I don't want to be the one to make her suffer._

"It's ok … I know." It was a weak whisper with a trembling voice, "Everyone I love goes away in the end."

"YOU KNOW WHAT I really hate, almost as much as abstinence?" Irvine snapped as he stopped the car at a red light. He turned harshly to Ellone and stared at her.

She replied comically, smiling nervously, "You hate something almost as much as abstinence?"

"I hate it when she fucking does this to me! Never answering her home phone, never answering her cell phone, never telling anyone where the fuck she's going, disappearing for hours on end, does she not realize that I fucking care?"

"I'm sure she's safe and most probably with Squall so there's really nothing to worry about." She was saying this more for her sake than his. If anything had happened to her friend, she would blame herself endlessly. It would be her fault.

"Oh, that's another bastard I want to kill right there. Your fucking brother, goddamn, he didn't call back Caraway last night when he was sent to disrupt the meeting between Quistis and her assassin for Rinoa's death warrant so for all we know … _fucking cocksucker!_" Irvine swore a long slew of curses and then gunned the accelerator when then light flicked back to green, "I swear when I find him …"

SO SQUALL'S SCENARIO had gotten them a doctor … so what? Her feelings of absolute embarrassment and annoyance towards him had not attenuated much. They were still waiting, anyway, just in a smaller, less crowded room on an examining bench. And now, Arianna was getting restless as well. She examined the tools hanging from walls, the posters showing the circulatory system, the heart complete with the aorta, superior and inferior veena cava and everything else that Rinoa had slept through in biology class.

"Satisfied?" He asked with a cocky grin that she just wanted to slap off his face.

"Very. Now, when I go out to do my groceries, people can look and point at my and say, 'There's that chick that's with the weird guy … the one with the mental problems.' thanks Squall, thanks a million. I've always wanted to be recognized as a demented woman who houses freaks prone to violent acts." Rinoa seethed sarcastically, still slightly red at the ears. She heard footsteps just beyond the closed door.

The doctor threw open the door and one look at his clean-shaven face, steely gray eyes, strong chin and longish ebony hair left Rinoa begging for the sweet release of death. _Of all the days, why … why today?_

He smiled at the young patient on the bench and then looked towards the slim familiar figure next to the child, "Wow, Rinoa Heartilly?" His deep voice had grown an accent, probably from studying in Balamb for so long, either that or he might be acting fresh. There was a tag on his white coat with his picture that read, 'Dr. Lark Sullivan.'

Squall's face fell and he stared at her though she didn't return the eye contact. This worried him further. She was smiling. At _him_. "Hey, Lark, long time no see." There was no ring on his left hand. He knew her. His smile told Squall so. _Ok, they knew each other, big deal. Doesn't mean they … you know … fucked in the back seat of a car … though that smirk of his tells me differently, little fucker, why does he have to be the doctor? And what kind of name is Lark?_

"How've you been?" The more imposing man asked, not even glancing at Squall.

She shrugged and did her best to acknowledge his question as friendly conversation, "Not too bad, I guess, you?"

_Who cares? _Squall thought bitterly and crossed his arms, fixating his eyes on the big posters explaining in great length the urinary tract. Yeah, a great deal of 'piss off' was on his mind right now, it seemed rather appropriate. "Well, pretty good, just finishing off my internship so I can get my doctorate and-"

_Woah, big words, deemed of an interruption, _"You're not a doctor?" Rinoa turned to glare at him and he almost regretted his move but found himself returning the dirty look.

'Dr. Sullivan' looked to him and finally seemed to recognize his presence, "No, it's just my name tag that says so. Anyway, it takes a while to be an actual doctor." He smiled and turned back towards Rinoa, "Is this your daughter?"

'_It takes a while to be an actual doctor.' _Squall mimicked in his mind, _Fuck you and keep your eyes to yourself while your at it, she's mine. _"No, not my daughter." _Woah, why so quick to deny, Rinoa? _He now felt flawlessly bitter with a twinge of envious anger. A deadly mix, often served iced.

"She's just a random kid we found in the streets and the SPCA wouldn't take her in so we dragged her here." _Oh, now I insult the kid when I want to hurt my girlfriend, I've sunk so low I can see the Titanic._ _Well, it worked. _Rinoa was giving him the most vehement glower and Arianna was staring at him, looking wounded and uncomfortable. _Squall Leonhart, emotional killer of little children, what would your mother say?_

"Really now?" The intern asked, almost amused.

"No, he's just not particularly enchanted today, is all." Rinoa didn't look at Lark when she said those words, she was still busy melting holes into Squall's face with her eyes.

"Alright, so let's see what's wrong with you?" Lark smiled softly to Arianna. _Fucking angelic ass, I bet you he steals old women's pills and kicks kittens down flights of stairs._

CARAWAY PACED NERVOUSLY in his rosewood-furnished study, clenching and unclenching his fists anxiously, wondering if he was waiting for the sky to fall. There was an unexplained tightening in his chest and his forehead was constantly doused with sweat, no matter how many times he wiped it with his sleeve. He glared at the phone, almost threatening it, "Ring, you damn piece of shit, ring."

Not for the first time in his existence, James felt like an invalid. Handicapped. Utterly useless to his daughter or her survival and safety. This angered him. No, this enraged him. He had witnessed her fall once and had merely winced at her broken wings and shattered soul … and now, would he stand by on crutches and wait for her short drop once more? He didn't want to. But she hadn't provided him with much of a choice in the matter. "Ring, bastard, ring."

In the next room, he heard the bustle of the maid dusting the fireplace mantle piece and chatting to her apprentice relentlessly in a language he could not understand. This fueled his headache and the puncturing pain behind his neck, _Why won't she shut up and leave the silence to the ringing phone?_ Distinct peals of laughter erupted. _Shut up, you damned broad, shut up!_ Finally, the phone obeyed and the two domestics fell quiet as James lunged for the receiver, "Hello?" He felt a sudden breathlessness and was under the impression that a school of piranhas were tearing apart at his chest.

"Mr. DeGracia?" Quistis greeted on the other end and James' heart sank. _Oh for the love of Jesus this is it … my daughter's dead. _He took a seat in his leather chair and shut his eyes for a second.

"Yes."

"I need to speak with you." Her voice was panicked, frustrated, almost weak.

"I'm all ears." That was a lie. He wasn't. In fact, he had more interest for the map of Esthar that was framed and hung on his wall more as an art piece than as a reference. He didn't want to hear what she had to tell him.

"In private." She specified with traces of resent.

"Well, there's no more private than a phone line, my dear." Caraway replied lightly.

"Sir, I'm not in the mood for games." Quistis snapped at the other end, "How long have we been allied? Do you not trust me? What's the problem? So I may fix it to your liking. I attempted a bargain with a hitman named Tsang last night. Something went terribly wrong. He now thinks we have made a direct move on his life, which is utterly false, it was obviously the workings of a third party. I suspect Almasy as I've recently cut threads with the idiot but now, I just need your help."

Relief. But it did not wash over him like he had expected it to. The pain remained and he felt a constant shortness of breath, "What was the bargain deciding?" He still had the strength to play along.

There was a silence and Quistis admitted hesitantly, "Rinoa Heartilly's demise."

"Of course." Caraway acknowledged softly, like a parent reprimanding his child he continued, "Your chase for revenge proves to be quite fruitless, do you not find? I don't understand what Miss Heartilly's done to you to stir such a vast amount of hatred and I don't understand why you try, time and time again to rid yourself of her. What threat does she pose to you?"

Quistis interrupted viciously, "None, I just don't like her face and I want her dead, is there something wrong with that? No, of course not. I hadn't thought so. Sir, with all the respect that I owe you, are you a friend or are you not?"

"Friends … allies … those are two different words and you cannot use them interchangeably, Quistis. How long have you lived in this city? And why have you not learnt that vital lesson yet? A friend is not an ally. And an ally is definitely not a friend. You understand? This relationship is carried out in a business-like manner where friendship is ludicrous and unimportant." God, the pain … why wouldn't it leave him? "I am not your … _friend_, Quistis, I am your ally and I must say that as your ally I do not support your tireless chase to have one person removed from the picture. I rather like Heartilly as competition myself and I find it quite amusing to refuse for her planes to land on my runaway. You waste your time. You and Diabolos. I will not support you in this. Is this all you needed to ask?"

There was an indignant silence when finally, Quistis replied, "No, that's all really, thank you so much for your help." The bitter sarcasm didn't even faze the recipient, "Until next time, Mr. Degracia, your council was a pleasure." She hung up quite snappishly and Caraway did the same. It was then that he noticed the maid, Sophia in the doorway, awaiting his attention.

"Yes?"

"Sir, my assistant and I have finished up here for today." She spoke in her ghetto accent that had always really irritated Caraway. _Accents are supposed to refine an individual, not strip him of the respect he may deserve._

"Of course …" He wrenched open his middle desk drawer and took out an envelop containing a check, "Here you are." The pain suddenly erupted from his chest in a fit of firework proportions and the maid instantly knew something was very wrong as he recoiled back into his chair and gasped for air, "I'm afraid I'm not feeling quite well … could you … would you please call …"

The maid didn't wait for the end of the sentence to grab the phone and dial the emergency services. Caraway looked towards the ceiling clutching his heart as the acute pain mercilessly devoured his chest.

THE DOCTOR HAD left with his diagnosis and promise to return with a solution to the problem. Squall felt an intense lift of atmosphere at his departure and he used this newfound comfort to attempt a joke, "Wow, Rin, a doctor? I would've never even thought about it. How difficult was it to go down a grade … from a medical student to a part-time nothing like me?" A cruel, uncalled for joke, but a joke nonetheless.

A joke that she found no humor in, "Don't … make … assumptions." She managed through clenched teeth and crossed arms. Arianna just sat still on the examination table, perhaps too afraid to break the secret duel between the two adults.

"How am I making an assumption this time?" He asked haughtily, hands in his pocket, leisurely leaning against the wall.

Rinoa didn't answer him, she only scowled and announced, "I'm going to get myself a coffee, do you want anything, Arianna?" She looked to the child who merely shook her head. Rinoa turned to Squall, failed to offer him anything but instead said, "Can I trust you with the simple task of waiting for Lark to return?" She used his name, applying an unnerving sense of familiarity with the doctor to inject a maddening dosage of rage into his veins and, without even waiting for his response, she left the room.

Squall could have thrown something at her. The stethoscope … the box of wooden sticks … of latex gloves, God, anything, "I'd like a coffee too, please, ok? Thanks!" He called after her angrily, seething. There was an awkward moment's silence as the door swung shut and Squall remained alone with the child.

"What's going to happen to me?" Arianna asked him, obviously preoccupied by much more important things than coffee and lovers' spats.

"The hell if I know, kid." Squall snapped, not meaning to but out of natural reaction to questions like these.

"Are you scared?" Arianna asked, hugging her knees on the table, peering over to the figure that was leaning on the wall, arms crossed and eyes fixed on something on the floor, "I'm really scared."

"What the hell would I be scared of?" Squall answered with a hint of annoyance. _Bloody kids and their stupid, random questions._ He didn't even turn to look at her or offer her some form of comfort. _Who does she think I am? Her father? _Then he added, if only perhaps to impress her, "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Don't lie." Arianna accused sharply, her eyes determined and harsh. Squall bit his lip to keep from replying something nasty, _I'm not lying, you fucking brat, just shut up and content yourself that I don't have the heart to throw you out of a damn window… actually, it's not because I don't have the heart, it's because there are no fucking windows in this room! _"Liars are the ones that are the most afraid of anything! Everyone is afraid of something, and I've already seen you scared anyway …"

Squall finally turned and glared at the child and snapped ruthlessly, "Here, kid, now I'm gonna say something and let it serve you to the end of your days … don't make suppositions about people. I'm twenty-four … what're you? Five?"

"Six." She corrected viciously, still staring fiercely at him.

"Whatever." He drawled and went on, "I know more things about life then you may ever be brave enough to find out, little one, so sit tight and shut up."

There was a contemptuous silence that Arianna broke with a haughty proclamation, "You were scared at the restaurant … when I first met you … you were terrified, I could tell! When I told you that Irvine and Rinoa were at my brother's dojo, you were scared that she loved him more than you. You were scared 'cause you like her and you thought she would never want to be with a meanie like _you_!"

"What are you?" Squall hissed through clenched teeth, "My psychiatrist? Shut the fuck up, you little shit! There's a misconception between afraid and plain out pissed off, and that time, I was plain out pissed off!"

"When people like you are angry, it means they're scared. They're angry at themselves for being afraid and weak and that's why they yell and scream … to hide it, to look like they're brave but really, they're not. Now, see, you're angry … you're yelling at me to be quiet 'cause you don't want to know the truth, you're just scared to admit that I'm right."

Squall glared at the child menacingly and Arianna was actually worried he would hit her but he restrained himself and she took this occasion to continue, "And you're afraid of the doctor … 'cause you know he's so much better than you and that Rinoa likes him, every time you look at her you're afraid because you know that if she leaves you, you won't be able to do anything. You're like my brother with Selphie. Maybe I'm not a grown-up yet but I know when people are scared. And you're probably the scaredest person I've ever met. Well you know what? You have reason to be scared … because if you keep acting like a total meanie, everyone will leave you … you're like a big bully, and every once in a while, bullies get beaten up."

"And you, you're like the little know-it-all shit that understands nothing and every once in a while, little shits get beaten up too. Now shut … up."

"Just between you and me … which one of us has more to lose?"

There was no time, nor an answer to respond to that question as the doctor Lark entered the room once again and asked, "Hello … where did Rinoa go?"

"I was hungry, I ate her. Didn't she mention my strong cannibalistic urges?" Squall retorted sarcastically, "But don't worry, doc, I'm sure I've got enough brain cells left to comprehend what you're about to tell me."

"Actually," A voice came from beyond the door that made Squall flinch and curse under his breath, "I'm right here, I just went to get coffee for myself and Hannibal Lector over there." Rinoa pushed through the door and practically threw the hot cup of coffee to her inappropriately behaving boyfriend. Her timing today was nothing short of impeccable.

"Right …" The doctor mumble, flustered under the heat of Squall's overbearing glare, "So where to begin …"

* * *

******Author's Pointless Rambles: **_****__I believe this will be the last chapter of this fanfic. _No, it's not some joke or a ploy to rake in the reviews. I've been thinking about it over and over and finally, I've made my decision. I don't think it's a decision anyone can counter despite what they tell me and I really have to apologize. I didn't want to do this, in fact, I'm hating myself forit but I think it would be better for me if I just stopped. In case any of you are angry, I've deemed you all worthy of an explanation:

I've been having a rough couple of months. No, this isn't the part where I bitch and moan about my life but I'll just state the facts: everything has been shit. I don't even know where to start or go with this reason, but I just hope you can acknowledge it and to a certain extent, understand it. It's a really horrible argument to dump this whole project, actually, but I can't do much about that.

Relationships, important ones, have fallen apart and the ones remaining either have little meaning or dangle by some remote thread that I want to cut either for my own good or their's. I've also realized my immense comfort in things that hinder my personal health. No, not drugs. Worse.An imaginary life with imaginary friends and imaginary situations takingplace in imaginaryplacesand to be fair, I don't think it's very funny in case you've exploded in giggles.

I think it's time I pick up the shattered pieces of reality, pieces that I broke myself and I don't think I can do that with Squall and Rinoa. I don't think I can do that with Devil's Playground.

I will continue to write, and consequently, I will continue to live. No, it's probably not the other way around, sadly. It's probably important to mention that these characters were never mine and never will be mine but they were me. I think I put a little bit of me in Squall, in Rinoa ... but Ellone, most of all. I hate her. She's absolutely worthless in the game. And yet I model her role in this fanfic to my personality. Ironic? Perhaps.

I want to thank everyone so much. Those who've been following me for the past few years while I burdened with my amateur writing skills, you've all helped me in some way to direct this sad, windswept human and I know it's difficult to believe, but it's the truth. Those of you who've just found me out, your encouragement has done more than words can express. Thank you ... thank you ... the eight-lettered saying could never be enough and I'm so sorry.

Who knows ... maybe I'll pick this up again in a few months after the war has finished ravaging, after the storm has died down. Who knows. I'll be honest and express my heavy doubt but who knows.

I'm ashamed to leave this work unfinished but it really is something I have to do.

Thank you all, merry Christmas and the best wishes in the New Year.


	27. Bleed

"_Scars remind us that the past was real …"_

_-William Shakespeare_

**Bleed**

_Smother him. _The conscious compelled him. _So many fine pillows of dove feathers. Let him die by one. It will take mere moments. His lungs will reach, grope and find nothingness. They will cripple. His blood will go unfurnished. His heart will stop. Smother him. _A visual came with the cruel urges. His father, a mountain of a man, sprawled onto his bed, limbs twisted, face contorted, asphyxiated. It would be one thing taken care of. He would never return to this desolate manor where the servants were ghosts, shadows stalking the walls. Where the only living being was one of cold blood and slowly inching to his demise. _Do it._

Two pairs of cold emerald eyes stared at him from across the bed. A witness. _Goddamn. _Short wheezes tore his attention to the carcass that lay, begging for the sweet release of death, on the bed, covered in silken sheets. _Shut up. Save your breath. _"Get … get … get …" _Just die. _"Get me … a glass of water." Mr. Almasy heaved breathlessly, his pale hand grasped at thin air. Cain observed the sickly skin, Albino white with the blue veins protruding like snaking tubes. _Drop. Drop fucking dead._

Seifer stared at his younger sibling, expecting him to wait on his father's irritating needs. Cain glared back but succumbed. He scratched his chair back and went quickly to the private bathroom where he filled a glass of water from the golden tap and marched back into the bedroom. He pushed the water into the dying man's hands and sat back down.

It was unnerving. Waiting for him to die. Waiting for the remains of his life to be extinguished. A task only time could do. No. Wrong. They could do it right now.

"Ap …" He paused and took in a rattling breath before going on in a soft whisper, "Apparently, Rinoa Heartilly's disappeared." His voice extenuated in the frailest of tones that fueled the brothers desire to grant their old man death. Cain flinched at her name. There was a laugh. Or an attempt at a laugh, just air passing through the throat in quick staccato successions, "Ha … have you heard?"

"Yes, father, we've heard." Seifer snapped ruthlessly, his arms crossed, his eyes to the ceiling. _Croak already, you old bastard. _"But frankly, it's of no importance to you at this moment so I don't see why you're exhausting yourself by bringing it up." _Die quickly, die quietly. Now go._

"Oh, but it is of importance, my dearest son." Mr. Almasy wheezed tiredly and managed a fake smile, "She's … DeGracia's daughter, you know?" There was a shocking quiet and the old man murmured on faintly, "DeGracia … Caraway, same people, you know? Yes, Rinoa Heartilly has family in high places. She's a bit like you two, you know – living off her old man's back." There was a short break where Almasy coughed and then goaded on, "You know, it's quite pointless for you two to be sitting on either side of me waiting for my death that I know you yearn for. It's no use pretending to care, boys, my will has already been written and there are to be no last minute changes. Your persuasion techniques are pitiful and in vain."

The lie was forced through Seifer's clenched jaw, "We're not pretending, father."

Mr. Almasy continued in a rasp, ignoring his son's attempt to blanket the truth, "You should, instead, be spending time doing what I'm sure you do best. The sport, the hunt … wooing young ladies, sweeping them off their feet? If I were either of you, I would be doing some … how do the street-crawlers call it? 'Some serious ass-kissing' to the fine creature named Rinoa. After you find her, of course."

Seifer raised an eyebrow while all his brother could do was balk again, "And why would we do that, father?" _If the bastard wants to talk, then let him talk and maybe we'll finish this before tomorrow._

Almasy smiled weakly, almost heinously to his two sons and went on feebly, "Unlike me, James Caraway seems to actually … care about his own flesh and blood. Since he is an old … trustworthy friend … I have delegated all my possessions to his account. And in turn, these billions of dollars will be passed down to his daughter. Funny a world, isn't it?"

A wild torrent of shock kicked both Cain and Seifer in the gut but it was the older brother who reacted with his violent nature, "FUCK!" He gnashed his teeth and threw over his chair, "FUCK YOU, OLD MAN, FUCK YOU!" He spat disgustedly and looked down upon his father, consumed in his rage, "GODDAMNIT!" In his fury he grabbed the framed photograph of his mother that rested on the nightstand and threw it to the floor where it exploded in fireworks of glass and meshed oak wood. "I'll see you in Hell!" He stormed out of the room, disregarding the protests from his younger brother.

IF ONLY IT wasn't a game. This tease, this faulted jealousy, this distraction from the greater issue. Lovers' spats are so easily solved by romantic amends, dinner and lovemaking. Squall knew this was not to be his way out. He knew this was a mere ploy, lighthearted playtime to gracelessly dance around the wound. The wound. He saw it, bubbling with thick, burgundy blood, infected and growing wider with every glance she stole of the young girl on the doctor's examination table.

Her stab at his envy, merely banter. True – he was afraid of Lark. Of his probable past with her, his big words, his name tag, his uniform, his posture, his fervent examinations of Rinoa's shapely figure. Though he fumed at all this, Lark was not a threat to him. An inconvenience, an unfair juxtaposition, but not a menace. What he was afraid of is how much happier Rinoa would be if she hadn't met Squall Leonhart and what would ensue if she realized this.

Arianna sat, listening attentively to the doctor's quiet, sympathetic explanation with idolatry dancing in her eyes. And why not? If she were to have a role model, it sure as hell shouldn't have to be Squall. Let it be someone with know-how, with dignity, with class. Somewhere deep inside of him, he knew she was going to be a catalyst to the next sequence of yells and screams that would pass within his already turbulent love affair.

And he was right.

IT PROVOKED AN overwhelming pleasing sensation. Like forcing your nail at the base of a mosquito bite and slowly picking and scratching it until it bled. Like looking down on a trafficked street from a 50 floor-high building and having an undeniable compulsion to jump. Like a rope tightly fitted on a tired neck and the brusque kicking away of a chair. Like a sharp razor blade tickling the delicate skin of a wrist.

So she did it again. Her teeth sunk into and under her nail, feeling the skin peel off with ease, her thumb was stripped bare and bleeding. Even blood tasted like sweet strawberries picked fresh from the fields of despair. She felt justified, dignified, mortified. She repeated the process until all her fingers were wet, dripping, pruned. It only felt like she had taken a warm bath. She was beyond pain.

Quistis closed her eyes, those terrified, pale eyes. _Don't breathe. _A sad attempt at death. A coward's try – knowing nothing will work anyway. Somewhere in the vastness of skyscrapers and asphalt, a murderer was leaving her the last fifteen minutes of fame. And in fifteen minutes, Quistis Trepe would be famous.

But how?

In a crowded subway station. Jumping onto the tracks, looking up to the light before the final impact. Or in the middle of a public park. Couples with their babies in their strollers when the peace is shattered with a gun shot, horrified screams accompany the blood like a soft flute playing in the distance while a pianosteals through a concerto.

A deafening bang.

And then there he was. A knight in crimson-tainted armor. Broken sword and all, storming into her home like an animal. He bellowed his accusations and threats, " … knocking for five minutes straight …", " … wallow in your fucking self-pity, you dumb bitch …", "… are you fucking daft, pick yourself up off the fucking floor …". The front door was nearly unhinged where he had pounded it open.

The sharp, emerald gleams shook her. Or was that his iron-grip on her shoulders. No matter. Her entire being was convulsing, twitching in a neurotic fit of nerves, "Wake the fuck up, Trepe, I leave you for how long and you jump into this pile of shit, knee-deep? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Go back to Heartilly, you piece of shit!" She managed to balk out. Quistis hid her face in her crumpled hands.

He was sitting on her couch now, next to her, making himself quite at home. He searched the inside of a jacket for a cigarette which he found and lit. "Making quite a scene out of yourself, aren't you? God, you make me sick. You go after Heartilly without the right tools, Quisty, you're bound to get bitten in the ass."

"I had the right tools; some asshole fucked it up for me!" A shrill indictment spurred in her throat but her panicked eyes were soothed with his hand on her cheek.

"Baby, I did _nothing_ to set you back. It's _Squall_."

The name seemed foreign to her in this moment of disillusionment. It spawned certain hatred, certain … sensuality that had never occurred to her before. What had been the plan? _Focus on the plan. Focus on what was, what is. Not what will be. _But it was so difficult.

His grave, enrapturing voice edged on carefully, "I would never work against you, I just wanted to give you time to realize how fruitless this chase is going to be if you take it too fast … you know about taking things too fast, don't you, sweetheart?" She nodded fearfully like a child, "You understand now … why we can't kill Heartilly, _yet?_"

There was a lie there, somewhere. Even she knew that. But she let him continue with his syrupy, thick whispers, "You understand now … how I've got no interest in _her_." His lips brushed against her knuckles, "You're the one I want. I love _you_, understand?" He leaned further and kissed her collarbone.

Everything he was saying. Everything was lies. But the truth was only for people who could never be happy. And she would be happy. She was meant to be happy. A lie was an opera. A lie was her life. She could bear these last few. They tasted so good. She felt them on his lips when he embraced her mouth softly.

She could feel him smirk underneath this disguise.

_Like taking candy from a baby._

RINOA CLOSED THE bedroom door softly behind her and looked to the cumbersome silhouette sprawled on the couch. She threw the words at him, "She's sleeping now."

"Good for her."

Her keys in her right hand, she resisted the urge to throw them. To hurl them at the big, fat target that was beckoning to be hit – Squall's inflated head. He didn't even look handsome anymore. Well, she was trying to convince herself this but she wasn't doing a very good job of it. In fact, if there was an apex to his attractive demeanor, it would be this. It was always this way when she needed to be firm, strong, determined. This way it would hurt more when he dealt the coup de grace.

"Squall-" Her voice faltered. Perhaps it was because he interrupted.

"No, Rinoa."

"_What?_" She lashed out incredulously, trying to keep her voice down.

"I said no, we can't keep your fucking pet." She saw a glint of sapphire in the two holes where his eyes were supposed to be, "No, we can't careen her around the fucking city like we owe her something. No, we can't risk our lives by keeping this big, black target with us. No. We're going to drop her off at the police station tomorrow morning and act like we found her in the fucking street, not in the middle of a bloodbath."

He was faceless, soulless, and nameless and it didn't matter if he died. She told him this. He snickered. "You know what, Squall Leonhart, go royally fuck yourself! You're in _my _apartment right now and I'm going to do whatever the hell I want … don't act like you matter, don't act like …"

"You're pissed off now?"

"Pissed … pissed … _pissed off!_" She screamed through clenched teeth.

"What're you going to do? Cry? _Scream?_" He got up off the couch and stalked up to her, "You're a damned healthy idiot if you think we can take care of the kid and save our asses on top of that. I'm sorry, Rinoa but-"

"Oh, like your apologies are worth something. Like they magically bring _my _baby back to life, like they take away the pain _I_ had to go through, like they make you a better person – do they put _your _spirit at rest, Squall? Because they sure as fuck don't do the same for mine!"

"You! You! _YOU!_" It had escalated through to yells, nothing mattered anymore. They had created a universe of two where only they existed, where only they felt. And all they felt was misery, "Why the fuck is it always about _you_, Rinoa?"

"Because I'm the center of my own fucking story!"

"And maybe that's your fucking problem!" He retorted harshly.

"You never let me have Arielle – give me at least this!" Daggers. Each one of them tore at his body. She had deadly aim when she wanted to.

"Oh, so you had even named it!" He had ammunition too.

_It._ Like a repulsive creature. "Yes … I had even named _her._" Rinoa pressed scathingly, "I mean, your mother named _you_ and I don't even know if you're alive! _She _was alive, Squall, _she_ was very much alive. And _she_ still would be if only. _If only._ On a scale of one to ten, how much do you want me to need you?"

Squall glared at her, his lips trembling but incapable of forming words. She answered for him, "What's that? Did you just say _twelve?_ Well right now, let's pretend I _need _you to tell me everything will be alight. That Arianna will be alright. That my entire life wasn't a waste of everyone's time. _Just … fucking … pretend._"

"No. Let's not pretend anymore. Let's _not _fuck this up a second time." There was no need for the words to be shouted. Even when whispered, they did enough.

She looked up at him, defeated, "Fine. I need you to tell me that this is okay. I need you to tell me that she can be safe. With us."

He remained silent, avoided her eyes until he finally walked away from her altogether.

IRVINE PARKED THE car in a no-parking zone, entirely frustrated with Deling's system of avenues and roads eternally flowing one way. Ellone had been so nervous she stumbled over the directions, often leading them to the wrong place, "Don't you know where your own fucking brother lives?"

"Stop yelling, you're making it worse! I'm sure everything's fine!" She had stuttered in a vain attempt to quiet his violent shakes of rage.

As soon as he spotted the front doors of the building, Irvine thundered into the elevator and barely waiting for Ellone to catch up. "What floor?" He barked.

She obediently pressed the corresponding button but rancorously snarled, "You know, this is part of the reason we broke up." He glared at her as if to say the comment was inappropriate and not belonging to the moment but she just stared back spitefully, "You're the biggest thorn in my ass when it comes to your sister-"

"Pretend you care!"

"I do. But she is not my reason for life." The answer was curt, hollow, almost an echo from a phantom's breath.

"God no, I never said she was. If anything, she's a reason for death. She's a reason why immortality should remain a figment of our imaginations, the power of a God. But this entire city hangs on the last thread. The same one she's holding onto. If I lose my sister, I won't even have a home anymore."

"Have a flare for the dramatic?" Ellone snapped with the last remaining willpower she had to put up this debate.

"Yes. But this is what this entire ordeal is, no? A big fucking drama."

FINALLY, THE LAST breath. Gone. He had gone silently. Cain sat, unmoving from his position, trying to find the immense relief he felt. Finally. _Finally. _He almost laughed, if only he had the nerve, if only his father had not ravaged so much chaos with his goddamn 'passing away'.

There was so much work to do.

TIME HAS SUCH a way of designing intricate events so that they collide into a fiery display of chaos. "If there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that will cause most damage will be the one to go wrong. Corollary: If there is a worse time for something to go wrong, it will happen then." The law of Murphy. How unfortunate that nature has a penchant for those kinds of laws.

_How unfortunate, indeed. Why the tears, Rinoa? What were you expecting him to do? Take you in his arms and whisper sweet promises into your ear? _She answered her own question dryly, _Yes, actually – that was exactly what I was expecting after last night. Poor, poor, pathetic creature._

Ironically, it is what he had asked her as he left the apartment, "What the fuck are you expecting me to do?" He had slung his leather jacket over one shoulder and slammed the door behind him. _Fine, let him be that way. I don't need him. I don't need him. I don't. I even told him so myself._

HE GOT TO the sidewalk before revising his move. _What the fuck is she expecting me to do? _He was screaming inside, there was nothing but a clamor rattling on and on like noise pollution. Squall wanted to tear out his mind, his conscious, everything that incited thought – that provoked emotion. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, _"What the fuck do you want from me?" _

But he knew it was a stupid question to ask. She wanted a child. She wanted the girl. _Let her have the fucking kid, Leonhart! Just let her! No! Doesn't she understand? Doesn't she understand the complexity of having that particular brat with them? Her brother had been murdered – most possibly Tsang had meant to kill her too – the same Tsang that wants to kill her. Fucking logic, hello?_

Logic. Since when was logic part of Rinoa Heartilly vocabulary? And she had completely obliterated the word from his dictionary as well. _She thinks she can take up a kid just like you buy fucking furniture – with warranty and some assembly required! Pay in two easy installements – childhood and teenagehood and it's not like it matters because all moments with them are cute and adorable! Bull … shit …_

_And what do you think you're doing here? Thinking of leaving her? Honestly thinking of hailing a cab and going back home? This is home, you fucking loser. Face it; you won't have it your own way. You're going to go back into that apartment and tell her you need her like the fucking air you're breathing, you're going to go back in there and tell her that she can have whatever she freakin' wants because she's got you by the fucking balls anyway – tell her you don't even care if she needs you anymore because you're a big, fat, fucking baby and you'll surgically attach yourself to her arm if you have to just so you can be wherever she is all the time. Fuck._

SHE BARELY HAD the time to wipe the tears from her eyes and regain her composure, "What? Just realized you need to get laid tonight?" Her fingers tightened against the set of keys that she had never found the nerve to let go of.

"Yeah – I had forgotten that prostitutes don't take checks." He bit back, seething. This time, she didn't resist any urges. The car keys came flying at his head and narrowly missed, clanging on the door behind him. "You're fucking crazy, you know that?" He picked up the set of keys and looked around, "Absolute, fucking nut job." Narrowing on his target, he flicked the set of keys at a vase – hitting and breaking.

She cringed at the mess her apartment was becoming. He went on, "See, Rinoa? I go for the harmless things … why? Because I know I can hit."

"Go fuck yourself and the horse you rode on." She snapped back, crossing her arms in resignation, "So you have aim, I've got charm – we've all got our God given talents."

"Charm? Charm!" Squall exclaimed haughtily, "Yes, that must be what it is … _charm_. And here I was thinking it was all my insatiable male nature to screw everything that moves! Thank you for educating me further, now I don't feel so cheap anymore." He smiled and stood there, open armed, "Talk about taking a load off of my shoulders, thanks babe!"

"You know what, Squall Leonhart .. .I …" She cut herself short and then finally seethed, "Why did you come back? Quit it with your half-hearted jokes that are meant to sting but really don't. What did you come back for?" There was a certain smugness to her questions. So she knew. He was expecting that. She may be illogical, but not completely thick-headed.

"I came to tell you that you are the biggest idiot on this planet earth and that you live in a world of mesmerizing fantasies that you know will never be! You're stuck in delusions, if you think we're making it out of this alive, let me tell you that you're wrong. And if I die – it will all be your fault because of all the odds you set up against our survival. And I will haunt you, whether you're dead or alive - I'll make you miserable for the rest of eternity." He paused to look at her crumbling willpower.

Squall approached her cautiously and awkwardly wrapped his arms around her waist, "And you know what's stupid? Everything will be ok. She'll be safe. With us."


End file.
